


Magic Unbound

by Mahawna



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Gore, Graphic Descriptions of Torture, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27158818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mahawna/pseuds/Mahawna
Summary: Hermione's existence after Harry's death had become a living nightmare. Used as a subject on which Death Eater's experimented, she finds herself falling through the Death Veil only to realize it isn't Death that is waiting for her on the other side. Now Hermione must learn control in a land where magic is fierce, friendships are forged and destiny is challenged.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Hermione Granger
Comments: 31
Kudos: 106





	1. Chapter 1

Hermione may have looked cool and collected to anyone observing her, but inside her stomach had twisted itself into knots. She had to actively try and keep herself together, otherwise she would have ended up a blubbering mess on the floor. Her hands were clenched into tight fists at her sides and she was pretty sure her nails had broken the skin of her palms. Either that, or they were sweating profusely. She wouldn’t rule out that as a possibility at this point. Her heart was pounding out a terrifying beat inside her ribcage. 

She had stopped paying much attention to the world around her, the words being spoken all blended together, adding to the roaring in her ears. She already knew what was happening. Listening to a detailed description wouldn’t save her. 

Everything had happened so quickly after Harry had died. The Order had just seemed to lose hope after that. They had been fighting for so long, gaining some wins but still suffering the pain of loss, it all just blurred together after a time. It had been five years since the Battle of Hogwarts. Voldemort must have sensed his impending defeat and had decided on a “tactical retreat”, or tucking tail and running away. Depended on who you asked.

Hermione remembered celebrating her twenty-third birthday only the day before. It was hard to believe in less than twenty-four hours, her entire world had fallen apart. In the short pause after Harry’s body had hit the ground, everything had gone to hell. The fight completely left the Order as they watched, hoping Harry would get back up, keep fighting the good fight. He always did. Harry was a force to be reckoned with. Only this time, he didn’t. His body was still, his eyes wide open, staring unseeing at the stars above. 

Seeing the prophesied Saviour of the wizarding world finally defeated seemed to rally the Death Eaters, turning the battle into a raging blood bath. Those who were killed during the battle would soon be considered the lucky ones. Anyone that was brought in alive grew to envy the dead. Azkaban was no longer just a prison, it was a lab. 

Voldemort had declared that any prisoners held within could be used for magical experimentation. Being left alone in your cell for days at a time was considered a blessing. There was no way to tell the passage of time- the endless screams became a constant companion. Just more noise to be ignored in the background. 

Hermione had learned early on not to fight back when they did come for her. The masked wizards would drag her from her cell, willing or not, and force her up the twisting staircases. The labs had taken over the topmost floor of the prison since it had the best lighting. 

The first few times she fought back, they had forced a potion down her throat, causing her to hallucinate her worst nightmares the entire time she was in the lab. When it finally wore off she would be back in her cell, not having any idea what they had done to her. She came to fear the hallucinations more than anything they had done to her so far, and as such, she stopped fighting back. At least she would know what had been done to her body and magic instead of having to guess and find out for herself later on. 

Standing before the Death Veil in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic, Hermione twisted her wrists, trying to ease the pressure of the restraints. The cuffs binding her wrists together had a double purpose- to keep her from harming anyone physically, and to restrain her magic. After the last experiment they had no choice but to keep her magic suppressed at all times. She shuddered remembering that particular day.

_ Being forced face-down on the table was never a good sign. She had tried to suppress the urge to run, but being unable to see what was happening had triggered her natural response to run away. She had started to struggle when she realized they intended for her to lie on her stomach and not her back like they usually would. This was something else. This was a break from routine. This was something she couldn’t prepare herself for.  _

_ Fighting back had been useless, of course. Having spent so long in a small cell, her body being used for all kinds of experiments, she didn’t have enough strength left to put up any real resistance. The two wizards that had hauled her in didn’t seem to strain at all when they forced her down. She felt one hold her down while the other secured the straps across her body. She felt the leather bite into her skin around each ankle, the backs of her thighs, each wrist, her upper back, and across the side of her head, forcing her to look to the side. Completely immovable. _

_ A bit of leather was forced between her teeth so she wouldn’t bite off her tongue. That was never a good sign. Apparently whoever was in charge of these experiments didn’t believe in any kind of anesthetic. Each subject was forced to feel everything. ‘So as not to interfere with the results’ she had been told, when she had begged for something to hinder the pain.  _

_ Her range of sight was limited, but she was sure they purposely moved the table holding all of the necessary equipment so she would be able to see everything they were about to use on her. She could see the robes of the wizard who stepped up next to her once she was secure, his voice droning and bored, dictating to a Notation Quill, all the usual information she had heard a thousand times before. Subject number, date of birth, blood status, gender, experiment number, subject number within the experiment.  _

_ Hermione didn’t pay him the slightest attention. The numbers meant nothing to her since she had no context to give them meaning. Instead, she found herself looking over everything laid out on the table beside her. It had become habit to give everything a cursory look, trying to see if they gave any clues as to what would be happening, and usually there was none. Today was different. Hermione felt a break in the fog as she noticed the slender vinewood wand lying there.  _ **_Her wand_ ** _. It was placed next to the usual assortment of scalpels and potions. What could they possibly be doing with her wand? _

_ The answer was quick to come and Hermione cursed herself for allowing her mind to clear, even for a short time. The first incision was quick, and she thanked whomever cleaned the equipment as they always made sure everything was sharp, so as to make cleaner cuts. The sting that followed was greater than usual, and Hermione had to bite down on the leather strap to keep from whimpering.  _

_ The second swipe cut deeper, and she was sure they had hit the bone. She instinctively tried to move away, but the straps held her firmly in place. She heard the wizard’s continued observations as he cut through her flesh. At one point she saw him pick up the spreader, and this time she didn’t bother trying to choke down the scream that came. She felt the cold metal press against either side of the opening in her back, pushing her flesh apart, opening her up for a clearer view of her spine. She tugged at the restraints, the leather chafing her skin raw, but she was beyond caring at this point. She vaguely heard the wizard exclaim, not for the first time, ‘that her blood status was so unfortunate- so much potential wasted. Yet, at the same time he was so grateful to have such a powerful individual at his disposal. So few would have been able to withstand everything she had.’ _

_ She had learned long ago, that her magical core was strong, stronger than most of those in the magical community. As a student she had been proud of her strength, her knowledge, skill and proficiency. Now though, the only thing she wanted was to sink into the ground, disappear from this earthly existence, join her fallen friends in the after life. Here, in this hell, being strong only meant she was saved for the more difficult experiments, the ones that kept failing as subjects kept dying. If she couldn’t survive what they did to her, then it wasn’t possible for anyone to survive that particular experiment.  _

_ The tears rolled freely across her face as Hermione watched the wizard pick up her wand with his blood stained gloves-  _ **_her blood_ ** _ \- before it disappeared from her line of sight. She could feel the warmth of her blood flowing freely from the opening in her back, the skin inflamed as it was stretched open by the spreader bars. She knew she was drooling around the leather, but she really didn’t care anymore. She just wanted them to stop. She would give anything if it meant they would stop!  _

_ She felt a pressure and instinctively knew it was her wand being placed along her spine. She had a brief moment to wonder what they could possibly be hoping to accomplish, before her exposed nerve endings erupted in pain and she lost consciousness.  _

Hermione tried not to remember the horror she had felt upon waking back in her cell, her hands desperately feeling her back as the memories assaulted her. She had felt the scar tissue running along her spine, remembering the press of her wand before everything had gone black. 

With the added power of having her wand fused with her spine, leading directly to her magical core, she had blown apart her cell upon waking, accidentally killing the prisoners on either side. She still felt no guilt or remorse over the lives she had accidentally taken. It could only have been a mercy to the poor buggers, a release from their own miserable existence. 

Her attention continued to wander as the wizard continued to gesticulate wildly, explaining his latest idea to Voldemort himself. The man was clearly trying to impress, but Hermione thought he just looked like an idiot. If he really had any confidence in his theory, he wouldn’t need to keep waving his hands about. He would have given the information quickly and methodically, without the need to continually reassure the Dark Lord of his surety that whatever it was, it would work this time. 

Hermione found her attention settling on the witch standing behind the pompous idiot. She hadn’t seen Millicent Bulstrode since their time together at Hogwarts. She took in the girl’s- woman now, really- hunched shoulders as she jotted notes on everything that was being said. She hadn’t gained any more confidence in herself it would seem, though there was something about the witch that made you want to give her a hug. From Hermione’s stand point, she would guess Millicent hadn’t grown since third year, when she had seemed bulky and broad for a thirteen year old. The added womanly curves softened what had once been harsh lines. If she wasn’t about to be shoved to her death, Hermione would have admitted the witch could now be considered quite pretty. 

Her attention was snapped back to the proceedings as Hermione felt the sting of a slap across her face. Though taken by surprise, she made no sound. This kind of treatment had become routine. The pain of her nails digging into her palms helped ground her enough so she wouldn’t retaliate. Looking down, she noted she had indeed broken skin, as blood was dripping from her clenched fists onto the stone floor. Watching the droplets brought to mind some of the older, more ancient tomes she had read in the Black Library. A few had been impossible to read without providing droplets of blood in the correct pattern- usually the constellation that particular Black author had been named after. 

“The least you could do is pay attention, Mudblood,” the wizard that had been presenting moments ago, spat in her face, “You should feel honoured to be a part of history like this. It’s the best you could ever expect.” 

Hermione brought her eyes up to meet his gaze. She gave nothing away, her expression completely dead, having learned long ago to show any emotion brought another beating. He continued to stare at her for a moment before nodding his head, pleased with what he saw. He turned his attention back to Voldemort.

“My Lord, we will be using the Mudblood to determine if there is any difference between sending a live subject through versus a deceased. She is of no further use, and has been deemed too hazardous to keep any longer, considering the continual magical outbursts. She has put too many of my assistants in St. Mungo’s. I’ve had to accept Leonidas’ daughter simply because no one else was willing to take the position at this point because of her.”

A small sliver of pride warmed Hermione’s heart. It may have been accidental magic that put those idiots in the hospital, but it meant there were less people available to proceed with further experimentation on anyone else. 

Seeing as everyone’s attention had been turned from her back to the wizards explanations, Hermione returned her gaze to the floor. The blood had formed a small puddle now, all the individual drops coalescing together. Her thoughts drifted back to those dusty, forgotten shelves in the Black Library. She had been amazed at the number of volumes dedicated to the Veil hidden away in the Department of Mysteries. Naturally, she had consumed every word hidden in those books, including the ones requiring her blood. She had been careful and only read those ones after everyone was asleep at Grimmauld Place. Everyone would have been disappointed in her if they found out she was reading something requiring a blood sacrifice of any kind. 

As her mind whirled from one thought to the next, with no coherent pathway, a sudden realization struck her. Those books had contained  _ everything _ there was to know about the Veil she was about to be shoved through, including how to protect it. She would be taking that one-way trip no matter what, but she could possibly save anyone else from having to endure the same fate. 

Bringing her hands together, she carefully looked around, making sure no one was paying her any attention. The binds had just enough give between them for her to draw runes on the back of her hand using her blood. She had pulled all-nighters with those books and had memorized some of the spells she felt might come in handy one day; protecting the Veil had been one of them, thanks to her lack of trust in the Ministry, which was apparently well founded. She began murmuring the incantation under her breath, thanking whatever Gods were listening that nobody was standing close enough to hear her. That was the only downside to blood magic- the incantations all needed to be verbalised, as it was a more archaic form of magic. 

A hand suddenly gripped her arm and she snapped her head to the side, almost breaking her concentration. She had finished drawing the correct runes on one hand and had moved to the other, but she still had a fair bit of the spell left. Panic rose up, clenching around her heart when she realized everyone was done talking and they had proceeded to the practical part of the experiment- sending her through the Veil. 

Hermione started to whisper as fast as she dared, not wanting to get it wrong, she wouldn’t have time to try again. She could see she was moving closer to the Veil but felt completely disconnected from her body. There were only two steps between herself and the filmy Veil when she whispered the final syllable.

Not wasting a single moment, Hermione took a final step forward and placed both her bloody palms against the stone Arch. She felt the magic swell instantly upon contact. The runes drawn across the backs of her hands began to glow, light spilling from them in a fog that spread out across the room. It was a few moments before anybody realized what she had done, and were thus captured in the swirling force of the spell. She watched in horror over her shoulder as everyone who had been caught in the fog began to rapidly age, their life force and magical cores being drained to help fuel the rest of the spell. As more life left their bodies, the fog swept higher, forming a dome around the Veil. The dome began to shift from silver to gold, the pulsing light growing brighter until it hurt to look directly at it. 

Surprised at feeling the hand still clutching her arm, Hermione turned to look over her other shoulder. It seemed Millicent, having a hold of her as the spell had activated, had not been caught up in the spell. Hermione found herself slightly relieved she hadn’t caused the death of the Slytherin girl. She may not have been on good terms with her at Hogwarts, but the only altercation they had ever had was in second year during the dueling club, and Hermione had instigated the fight so she could get hair off her robes for the Polyjuice Potion. 

Millicent looked just as surprised as Hermione to find herself free of the spell’s effects and could only gape as the others fell to the ground one by one. The dome gave one last pulse before shuddering to a halt. It held for a moment, before a wind began rushing through it. It whipped Hermione’s hair into her face, making it difficult to watch what was happening, but she could hear chunks of stone crashing against stone as the ceiling of the Chamber was brought down. Hermione tried to look around to see just how many had been caught in the dome and was disappointed to see Voldemort staring back at her, pure rage written across his inhuman features. 

The force of the wind picked up and Hermione found she was leaning into the stone of the Arch to try and brace herself. Millicent had let go of her arm and was now clinging to the rock alongside her. Hermione clung with all her might, but the force of the gale winds was too much for her weakened muscles, and she found herself tumbling free. The last thing Hermione saw before she slipped beyond the Veil was the red slits of Voldemort’s eyes staring back at her. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

All she wanted was for the roaring to stop. It  _ had _ to stop! The world around her had become a muted grey mist the moment she had passed through the Veil. If this was Death, Hermione was sure she would lose her mind sooner rather than later. She wondered if there was some truth to the muggle beliefs of Hell, and if this wasn’t it. Her skin was prickling uncomfortably, but she found herself incapable of doing anything to relieve it. 

Just as Hermione was about to lose hope of ever escaping the mist she felt her knees impact with solid ground. Frantically, she leaned to the side, emptying the contents of her stomach. She was vaguely aware of the sound of voices that weren’t completely drowned out by her own heaving. Whoever they were seemed startled to see her. She supposed they must have good reason; it wasn’t everyday people fell out of empty archways. 

Gulping down the cool night air, Hermione was finally able to take in her surroundings. The place had been left to ruin, making her wonder if anyone even knew of the magic the Arch behind her held. There were only a few walls here and there partially left standing to indicate there had been a structure here at all. Everything seemed to be huddled into a shallow cave in the rock face, though most of it was now open to the elements due to the weathering of time. The archway behind her was the only structure that was left mostly intact, with small chunks missing here and there. It looked almost exactly the same as the archway she had been pushed through, and wondered at the magic connecting the two. It had obviously been here for a very long time, and whoever had built the place was long since gone. 

Hermione was still on her knees, hands planted firmly to keep herself upright. Looking down at her hands she could just make out the runes she had drawn, now black and tattooed into her skin. Having sealed the Veil with her blood, she was the only one who could open it again, and she had no intention of that ever happening. 

Following the light source, Hermione took in the quaint campsite. She found it somewhat strange to find anybody camping in such a forgotten place, though she supposed the few walls would provide ample shelter for travellers to hide from the wind she could hear howling. From the looks of things she had interrupted their dinner as the smell of bacon wafted towards her. Merlin, she couldn’t remember the last time she had tasted bacon. Her mouth began to water at the memory. 

The occupants of the camp tentatively moved closer, and she could then distinguish they were all male, if she had to hazard a guess at their age, she would have assumed they weren’t much older than herself. None of them looked a day over twenty five from their faces, but for their diminutive size it was harder to guess. The obvious lack of footwear struck her as strange as well, though from the looks of it, they really didn’t need shoes anyway. 

A shiver passed through her and she realized that she wasn’t wearing much, her clothing being little more than a sack that was tied closed on either side. It made her body easier to access whenever they had need of her, and being little more than a living experiment, she hadn’t thought much of it. She couldn’t have kept her modesty from the wizards in charge had she tried, but here she felt suddenly embarrassed to be seen in such attire. It had been a long time since she had felt a superficial emotion like embarrassment. 

One of the ridiculously short men removed his travelling cloak upon seeing her shiver before he cautiously placed it across her shoulders. Upon closer inspection she noted the delicate silver stitching around the edges of the thick green fabric. Not being terribly tall herself, it was only slightly too short. She tried to give her thanks, and only managed to cough. It had been a long time since she had spoken aloud to anyone, and she was sure she had done some damage to her vocal cords from all the screaming she had done in recent years. 

“Well now, I knew we’d be seein’ some interesting things on our journey but I have to admit, barely clothed women appearing out of nowhere wasn’t on my list of expectations,” the one who had given her his cloak said, trying to break the tension that had become increasingly suffocating. 

The others chuckled and the spell was broken. Hermione noticed all of them had relaxed their posture now that it seemed she wasn’t about to attack them. It was then she noticed two of them holding swords- though they must have only been long daggers given the small stature of her company. 

Hermione pulled the cloak closer around her body, enjoying the fact she had control over the small movement. No one would swat her hands away or tie her hands down. This was real. She was finally free of that hell of an existence she had suffered in Azkaban. 

The one closest to her, the owner of the cloak, made as if to grab her elbow to help her up, but upon seeing her flinch, thought better of it. Instead, he gestured towards the fire where his companions had returned to their previous seats. “I promise we don’t bite, and it looks like you could do with a good meal. It’s nothin’ fancy now, but it’ll fill your stomach nicely I reckon. We can see if we can’t get those chains off while we’re at it,” he said as he gestured to her manacled hands. 

She smiled her thanks and pulled herself to her feet. The cold stone bit into her soles, reminding her that she didn’t even have shoes. She knew she had been extremely lucky to pass through the Veil at a time when there were travellers passing through. It seemed her luck had held because they even seemed to be  _ nice _ , something she hadn’t experienced in years. Cold indifference was the best she had come to expect. 

It was easy enough to break the small chain holding her hands close together, but there seemed to be no hope of freeing her from the magic suppressors. Hermione found she could only be marginally upset by this as she wasn't sure what her magic would do once freed, and she didn’t want to hurt these kind people.

She could have cried as a bowl was thrust into her hands once she had seated herself near the fire. The bacon looked crisp, along with a bread roll that must have been warmed close to the flames. There was also an apple. Sweet Circe,  _ an apple _ . Hermione did start to cry at the sight of the fresh fruit. She was sure she must look like an absolute loon to these people.

The owner of the cloak sat next to her once all the food had been handed to her and a canteen of water positioned near her feet. 

“Don’t eat too quick now- nice and slow. Don’t want to give yourself a stomach ache. My name is Samwise Gamgee, by the way. This here is Frodo Braggins, Pippin Took, and Merry Brandybuck.” He pointed to each individual as he said their name, who in turn, waved back at her. 

Seeing their expectant faces, Hermione cleared her throat again and returned the gesture, her voice scratchy, “My name is Hermione Granger.” There, that wasn’t so bad. It was rather nice talking to someone who didn’t know who she was, cringing away as if she were diseased. 

When it became apparent she wouldn’t be providing more information for now, the conversation picked up around her. She was perfectly content to sit and listen to their completely ordinary lives. The perfection of the moment was staggering and her brain seemed to be having a difficult time accepting this was real. She could make a new life for herself here. She could be anyone she wanted. No one knew who she was, her blood status, which side of the war she had been on. They knew  _ nothing  _ about her. It was refreshing as she listened to some tidbit about someone stealing carrots from a farmer. How perfectly simple their lives sounded. 

The one Samwise had introduced as Merry was just in the middle of a story about chasing a pig through a turnip field when the peaceful moment was broken. The air was filled with the sound of a bone chilling shriek that made Hermione’s blood run cold and her skin to break out in goosebumps. She compared the feeling to the smothering effect of a dementor, and found the two eerily similar- too similar for her liking. 

Conversation had died the instant they had heard the sound, but became a flurry of action when the cry came again- closer than it had been before. The fire was doused, and belongings were thrust haphazardly back into rucksacks. 

Hermione sat on her rock, completely shocked at the sudden change in demeanor. There must be something sinister making those calls for such cheerful folk to act so quickly. One of the little men, Pippin if she remembered correctly, had crept closer to the edge of their hideaway. He only looked for a moment before he was back, fear written across his features. 

“It’s them, the Riders. Nine if I counted right, moving this way.” He was already pushing the others towards the crumbling stone steps leading to the next level of the forgotten fortress. “We need to hide. We don’t stand a chance against one of them, let alone nine! Strider will be back soon, we just need to stay out of sight until then.”

Hermione felt a small hand grasp hers, pulling her along with the others. Frodo, she guessed, by the dark curls. She grasped the cloak tighter around her neck, trying to fight off the chill seeping into her core. 

She was forced to a quick halt at the top of the stairway as it was blocked by the rest of her companions. Being several inches taller it was easy to see over their heads at what had stopped them all in their tracks. 

The hilltop was open before them, with nowhere to hide. Not so much as a crumbling boulder was large enough to hide one of them, let alone  _ all _ of them. Hermione’s pulse quickened, sweat gathering at her temples. They were in real trouble here, and for the first time in a long time she was free to protect herself, yet here she was, unable to use her wand, with no means of controlling her magic. The bitter irony was not lost on her. She wondered briefly if these creatures had been drawn in by the amount of magic that had been required for her spell and the activation of the Veil as she passed through- like the dementors had been drawn to her in Azkaban. They had enjoyed gathering around her cell to feed off her power and memories, especially after having her wand fused with her spine. 

The cold feeling intensified and Hermione glanced over her shoulder hoping she was wrong, and as usual, found she was too right for her liking. Behind her she could see a thick fog rolling up the twisted stairway behind her. She had no doubt these ‘Riders’ were hidden from her view in the swirling smoke. 

Not wanting to be caught in such a tight spot, she pushed against Frodo’s back, propelling the others forward. He turned to look behind her, and upon seeing the fog, immediately got the others to move forward faster. 

Forming a tight circle atop the weathered lookout post, they watched with trepidation as the fog rolled across the open expanse. It swirled around them, engulfing them in it’s suffocating chill. Hermione was somewhat heartened at the feel of other bodies pressed against hers. It was startlingly nice to feel the contact, even under such terrifying circumstances. 

Straining her eyes, Hermione peered into the mist, hoping to catch a glimpse of the ‘Riders’ while at the same time fearing what she would see. Soon enough, she could see the outline of hooded figures moving closer. The Riders had her small group completely surrounded, she noted as she looked over her shoulder. She hoped their friend ‘Strider’ would show up soon. She didn’t want to find out what these creatures were capable of. 

A tear escaped her control, falling down her cheek as she felt the restraints on her wrist. Her magic may be wildly unstable, and completely unpredictable, but at the very least she would have been able to distract these creatures from her companions. She didn’t have a life built here, no one knew her, nobody here would miss her. These people were kind and caring enough to not ask questions and welcome a complete stranger to join them- sharing their supplies with her. She promised herself she would do whatever was necessary to protect them.

Before Hermione could formulate a plan, she found herself knocked to the ground, one of the little men landing heavily on top of her. Not being able to turn and look, she guessed one of the Riders must have attacked from the other side, out of her view, judging by the shouts and scrambling happening around her. 

Finally free of the weight holding her down, Hermione pushed herself up quickly, as she didn’t want to be caught lying on the ground, defenceless. Taking in her surroundings, she noticed only three of the travellers clustered together, trapped against a crumbling wall, some of the Riders keeping them from escaping.

Hermione swiveled her head left and right, searching for any sign of Frodo, but coming up empty. Instead, she noted the other two Riders seemed to be looking at something on the ground, advancing menacingly. Before she had time to act, one of the Riders had withdrawn a small blade, lunging forward at his unseen target.

There came a pained cry a moment before Frodo suddenly came into view. From what Hermione could see, the Rider had stabbed his blade to the hilt in Frodo’s shoulder. 

A sharp kick to her ribs brought Hermione back to her more immediate surroundings. Two of the Riders must have decided the others were well enough cornered and posed no real threat, turning their attention to her instead. The Rider that hadn’t delivered the kick had moved behind her, catching her as she stumbled, holding her firmly in place, arms trapped at her sides. 

The Rider that had kicked her moved closer. Hermione could hear a harsh whispering, though she couldn’t make out the words, hard as she tried. It sounded similar to the whisperings heard by some when they came in close proximity to the Death Veil. Hermione gulped, knowing the similarity couldn’t mean anything good for her or her companions. 

Hermione didn’t have the strength to fight back properly, and so only gave a token effort to get free. An icy hand on her wrist brought her struggles to an abrupt halt. The Rider before her was gripping her, its touch so cold it practically burned. She tried to flinch away but the second Rider refused to let go. 

The Rider brought her arm up, inspecting the magical band around her wrist. It waved its free hand over the band back and forth before there was a small  _ click _ and the band clattered against the stone under her feet. Hermione was completely shocked that this  _ thing _ had been able to overcome the binding magic so easily. She looked down at the circlet and noticed the edges that had held fast for so long now seemed melted, as if the power this creature had used had eaten away at it. 

Before she could contemplate further, she was suddenly blinded by a flash of light, driving away the mists. Turning her head towards the source she found a man waving a torch in one hand, a long sword held firmly in the other. 

The Riders holding her immediately let go upon the man’s entrance, joining the others as they swarmed toward him. She wondered at what power this man had, to garner such a reaction from these Dark creatures. 

Allowing her knees to buckle from under her, Hermione sank to the ground. She could feel her magic trying to break completely free after being restrained for so long. She could actually see the fiery tendrils escaping her skin along the hand and arm that was now free, and had no doubt her hair was crackling with it as well. 

Her attention was brought back to the battle before her as the sound of clanging metal broke through her mental haze. She watched as the man fought against the Riders with no small amount of skill, though it seemed their greater number was starting to push him back. Not really knowing where the idea came from, Hermione placed her unrestrained hand against the ground, closed her eyes, and stopped struggling against the maelstrom she felt within. 

Immediately her magic took advantage of finally being freed. Hermione felt the power explode from her outstretched hand; the flames catching three of the Riders in a single blow just as the man lit another on fire with his torch. Sensing the battle had turned against them, the nine Riders fled.

  
It was difficult for Hermione to reign her magic back under her control. It  _ wanted _ to be free. She had never experienced her magic on such a level before. Growing up, it almost felt like magic had to be lulled into action- an ancient presence that only wanted to rest. Here it felt practically sentient- an old friend greeting her as it rushed to do her bidding, filling her entire being as it coursed through her arm. It was intoxicating- particularly after not using  _ any _ magic for so long, but a quick glance at her companions startled faces told her she needed to bring it back in. She felt the magic purring along her spine- her core basking in the familiar glow, and she wondered if it felt so much stronger because of the wand fragments burned into her bones. 


	3. Chapter 3

Ceasing the flow of magic was harder than Hermione had anticipated, and with one restraint still in place, she felt horribly unbalanced. She found herself needing to physically pull her arm back into her body, curling around it, before the magic would obey her will. 

As she gasped for breath, she finally dared to look around her. The immediate stone around her was scorched- a perfect circle forming three feet out from where she knelt. In some places it was glowing red from the intensity of the flames. The air felt hot and heavy as she sucked in each lungful. Her new companions were huddled together around where Frodo still lay, as the newcomer took quick strides towards them. Seeing this didn’t cause any alarm, she assumed they knew him and his presence was welcome. She caught Merry eyeing her warily, and he quickly looked away once she had noticed him. 

She was surprised to note her muscles felt invigorated after using so much magic as she pushed herself to her feet. Though surprising, it certainly wasn’t an unwelcome development. Closing the space between them, Hermione moved towards where Frodo had fallen. Though no one stopped her, she didn’t miss the flinch and wide berth each of the small men gave her. The newcomer only briefly glanced at her before he continued his inspection of Frodo’s wound. 

“He was stabbed with a cursed blade,” the man said, dropping the now empty hilt to the ground. “I am not skilled enough for this kind of healing. He needs elvish magic now.” The man moved to carry Frodo like one would a child, curled against his chest. Hermione could tell he had tried to be gentle, but the direness of their circumstances demanded they move swiftly, and the movement caused Frodo to gasp sharply in pain. 

“Wait a moment now, why can’t she help him?” Pippin pointed at Hermione, seemingly unafraid of the fiery spectacle they had witnessed. “If she can drive the Riders away like that, surely her magic can heal Frodo.”

The man gave her a sharp once over before continuing in his previous trajectory. “Your new friend certainly has power, Pippin, but none of us understand her magic. Are you willing to risk Frodo’s life in the chance she can help?”

Following as quickly as they could behind the man, Sam spoke, “Why not take her with you then? Maybe the elves know more about the magic and she can help then? I’m sure she’d be handy to have around in case those Riders come back. They didn’t seem to fond of her fire magic.” 

The man paused, watching the hopeful faces of the small men surrounding him, before glancing back in Hermione’s direction. She could see the moment he made his decision as he walked towards her.

“I cannot leave them completely undefended, however, I only have one horse and they will not be able to travel fast enough to save Frodo. Can I trust you to take him to the elves for me? My horse knows the way, you need only hold on and keep the Riders at bay.”

He was standing directly in front of her now, and Hermione could see the expectant faces of the others behind him. She wasn’t sure she would be able to control her magic if the need arose, but she could tell the situation was dire and understood the man’s reasoning. She wouldn’t have wanted to leave the other’s alone either with those Riders out there. 

Swallowing past the lump in her throat that had grown at such trust being shown to her by complete strangers, Hermione nodded as she moved towards his horse, awkwardly climbing into the saddle. Once she was comfortable, the man hoisted Frodo in front of her, allowing her arms to hold him in place on either side as she grasped the reins loosely. 

Once he was satisfied with their position, he helped her place each foot in the stirrups, reading correctly that she was rather inexperienced with horses. 

“Just let him run. He knows where to take you, all you need to do is focus on keeping the two of you in the saddle.” He leaned closer to her so the others wouldn’t hear and whispered, “and we will be having a conversation about what happened back there.” Hermione instinctively knew he wasn’t a man to cross, and nodded in understanding. She would like some answers herself.

The man stepped closer to the horse’s head, and whispered, what she could only assume were directions, before he gave the horse a gentle swat calling out, “Ride swift, and take them to safety,” as they rode away.

To say Hermione lacked experience with horses was a gross understatement. It took all of her concentration just to keep herself and Frodo seated. She was terrified she would let the poor man fall if she let her attention waiver- she didn’t want to imagine what would happen if the Riders really did follow them. Her knuckles had turned white from the death grip he had on the reigns. 

It seemed luck was not on her side anymore as one of the Riders on a black horse fell into step alongside her own. Her eyes widened in fear as she realized the Rider was comfortable enough on his mount to continue at the breakneck speed and wield his sword. Thankfully her own mount seemed smart enough to move them out of the deadly blades reach, veering sharply, putting a number of trees between herself and the Rider. 

It must have only been a few minutes before the one Rider was quickly joined by three more, slowly closing in from different sides, dark shadows keeping pace with her amongst the trees. Hermione knew she needed a plan and quickly if she didn’t want to fall prey to the Riders again. She didn’t know why they seemed so interested in Frodo, but knew it would be best not to find out after having felt their dark power. 

Hermione found herself nearly unseated as the horse made to jump over a fallen log. Bringing her wandering thoughts back to the task at hand- any kind of a plan to drive them away and allow her to continue on unhindered. Turning her head to the left and right, she noted all nine Riders were now in pursuit. Turning her face forward once more she scanned the area for anything that could possibly help her lose the Riders. 

There. A river cut directly across her path. At least they wouldn’t be able to surround her if she made a stand near the bank. She whispered her need to the horse, hoping he would understand, before she straightened in the saddle, her grip tightening around Frodo. 

Just before the horse entered the river he turned sharply, coming to a bone jarring halt. Hermione secured Frodo to the saddle before sliding gracelessly off one side. She didn’t want any accidental casualties if she lost control. The horse stamped his foot uncertainty as she stepped towards the still Riders. She concentrated on the warmth smoldering in her core as she raised her free hand. Immediately the bright flames from before shot forward, startling the black steeds. The undergrowth surrounding them ignited throwing ghastly shadows across the scene. 

Hermione could feel her magic beginning to falter, the energy boost from earlier wearing off. It would take more than freeing her magic to properly heal from years of abuse it seemed. Her flames were able to drive away six of the Riders, but three stubbornly remained, as if sensing it was only a matter of time before she had to stop. 

Just as Hermione’s arm became too heavy, the magic too difficult to hold, a rushing sound filled the air. Dropping the tenuous grip she had on her magic, she turned just in time to see a wall of water rushing towards her from the river. She braced herself for impact, knowing there wasn’t enough time to get out of the way. But the hard push of water never came. Opening her eyes, Hermione saw that somehow the water had parted around where her horse stood, completely avoiding her as it swept towards the Riders, dousing any remaining flames. The Riders it seemed, were not so lucky as the white wall broke over them, pulling and pushing them down, before it began to retreat back to its original course, taking the Riders with it. 

It seemed luck had decided to grant her one last gift. The water had come at just the right time. Hermione was sure she wouldn’t have been able to hold off the Riders any longer. Lost in her thoughts, she was distracted by the sudden great gasps coming from her companion. Though the water had come in time to save her, it may have been too late to save Frodo. 

Gripping the saddle, Hermione pulled Frodo to the ground with her, laying him down as gently as her shaking muscles would allow. His eyes had become milky, his skin sickly pale, and he had foam forming at the corners of his mouth. Whatever curse had been on that blade, it must have been extremely Dark. 

She pulled open his shirt hoping it wouldn’t be as bad as she feared. It was worse. The wound was puffy, red, and weeping. The skin pulled painfully tight around it. This was definitely beyond her skills to heal, even if she had access to the proper supplies. She placed her hand over the wound, trying to stem some of the blood flow as she searched their surroundings, hoping something would spark an idea. Nothing came. 

Hermione screamed in frustration. She had been given this new chance, and it was slipping through her fingers. She had been entrusted with someone’s life, and she couldn’t even protect him. Hermione refused to think of all the others she had failed to save before. The list was too long. 

Beating her free fist against the ground, she wept as she wracked her brain for anything that might help, even a little. Though no words came to mind, Hermione remembered Bellatrix insane words, “You have to mean it”. The crazy witch had been referring to the Cruciatus but the same had to be applicable to other magic, right? A Patronus could only be summoned when you filled yourself with hope and light, perhaps there was more to magic than just wand waving and incantations. Maybe it was the intent that mattered most. 

Closing her eyes, Hermione reached inside herself, feeling her dangerously depleted core. What good would her magic be if she couldn’t save him? A tear slid down her cheek as she grounded herself, focusing on the light pulsing feel of her magic. She pictured drawing it up and out through her hand, forcing it into Frodo’s wound. She knew something must be happening as the light changed from behind her closed eyelids. She could feel the strain to her core, but pushed harder; she would not fail again. 

A dull throbbing started in Hermione’s temples, but she ignored it. Instinctively Hermione knew she was close, so close to saving him. Hearing a sudden gasp, her eyes flew open. She looked down at Frodo, and was stunned by the difference. His skin, though still pale, no longer looked sick, and his breathing was no longer laboured, but that of a peaceful slumber. She allowed herself a smile just as the throbbing intensified causing her to clutch her head, stars appearing in her vision before it all went black. Hermione toppled to the side as she knew no more.


	4. Chapter 4

Regaining consciousness was something Hermione had come to dread over her years of imprisonment. That moment when reality came crashing back in to replace her dreams was always a bitter pill to swallow. It was with a heavy heart she would realize she had lived through another night only to suffer through another day. She desperately clung to those last moments of sleep as they drifted away. 

It had become common place to wake with voices nearby. You got used to it living in such close quarters, especially as everyone in Azkaban slowly lost their minds. It was easy enough to tune them out now, until she realized these weren’t the usual insane mutterings of the inmates- these people were talking about her. 

Hermione lay still, forcing her breath to remain steady so she could listen in while they still thought she was asleep. At first she had thought they might be some of the wizards in charge of the experiments. Every now and again they would make rounds of the cells, cataloguing their subjects, discussing future experiments for each- but these voices were different. They didn’t have the same hollow quality that every voice had in the stone corridors of Azkaban. Nor did they carry the sickly tenor of someone who enjoyed watching and causing others to suffer. She was embarrassed how long it took her to recognize what the difference was. Concern. These men were concerned, something she hadn’t heard in a long time. 

Her curiosity was peaked as she continued to eavesdrop on the conversation happening nearby. Hermione listened carefully, trying to learn anything of importance. It was easier to make later decisions when you had all the facts. 

There were only three voices and she debated her options before finally deciding she wasn’t going to learn much more by pretending to be asleep still. The voices weren’t loud enough for her to follow the entire conversation. She hoped these people would be willing to answer her questions directly. She was still too much a Gryffindor to try and play any games. 

Opening her eyes, she was momentarily blinded by the light filling the room. Squeezing them shut against the sudden onslaught against her senses, Hermione readied herself for another try, this time only peeking through her lashes so as not to be completely overwhelmed. 

The first thing she noticed was how open and light the room was, the warm glow reaching every. Her heart rate instantly skyrocketed when she realized she didn’t recognize her surroundings. Documenting the prisoners response to certain hallucinations had been a favourite way to pass the time for the Unspeakables in charge of Azkaban. Waking up to unfamiliar surroundings meant she was about to be faced with something extremely painful- most likely concerning her parents or Harry. 

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out any thought surrounding those people who had been everything to her. It hurt too much. Allowing them into her thoughts only ever managed to bring her down into a black depression that was harder and harder to fight against every time she was forced to think about them. 

A loud crack had her eyes flying open in surprise. Normally it was only people that she had to interact with- never the surroundings. Frantically sitting up in her search for any danger, she quickly located the source of the sound. A large gap suddenly formed in the stone ceiling of the room, the stones shifting apart as it grew. 

It was then she noticed the burnt orange light filling the room, little yellow sparks floating through the air. Her breathing had become erratic, the light seeming to pulse in time with her shaky inhalations. 

The sparks seemed to grow bigger as her apprehension grew. This had never happened before- and new was always a bad thing if her experiences in the last few years were anything to go by, though she had no idea what they were trying to accomplish this time. 

One of the sparks landed on the back of her hand, causing her to jump in surprise. Instead of the burning she had expected, it seeped into her skin, leaving a glowing warmth as it disappeared. It was then she noticed the missing manacles on her wrist. For a brief moment her brow furrowed in confusion just before her memories came back to her. 

The Veil. Blood Ritual. Really short men. Companionship. Black cloaks. The smell of Death and Fear. Panic. An anguished cry. A melted cuff. Riding through the night. Frodo. Terror. The river. Fire. Magic. Healing. Finally, darkness. She couldn’t remember how she had ended up in the bed though. The thought of unknown persons touching her made her skin crawl. The years in Azkaban had certainly taught her you should never give someone the benefit of the doubt- guilty until proven innocent had become a statement to live by. 

Hermione sucked in a breath, trying to regain control of her breathing and her heart rate. Unfortunately, it was at that moment a stranger entered the room. He had a long grey beard that almost matched his grey cloak in color. The smile on his face had her instantly suspicious. People weren’t kind unless they wanted something. The orange glow seemed to grow brighter as her nerves grew tighter. She pushed her body as far into the corner of the bed as she could, making sure she had the entire room in her line of sight. She had learned her lesson about leaving room for someone to sneak up on her. 

The old man didn’t seem bothered by her sudden movements. Instead, he calmly took a seat at the small wooden table on the far side of the room, placing his hands on the worn top. A sharp crackling filled the silence as Hermione became more nervous. Why was he just sitting there? What did he want? Her eyes briefly flicked to the doorway, wondering if she could make it out before he caught her. Not knowing where she was provided the problem of not knowing her way out, nor how many others could be waiting outside the room. No, her safest bet at this point was to try and gain information. This must have been one of the men she had heard before, and she prayed the concern she had detected earlier hadn’t been an act. 

Before she had a chance to speak however, the man chose that moment to dig something out of his pocket and place it before him. She instantly recognized the remains of the second manacle that had held her magic prisoner for so long. No! She decided then and there, they would have to kill her before they got that horrible thing back on her wrist. There was no way in Hades she was going back to that existence. 

Making her decision, Hermione raised her hand, ready to let the magic free and make her escape when someone small came barreling in the room. In a split second her attention was drawn away from the old man to the head of dark curly hair suddenly blocking most of her vision. Immediately upon contact, the orange glow and the yellow sparks disappeared and Hermione felt her breathing return to a more regulated rate, her heart stopped its incessnat slamming against her ribs. 

Without conscious thought, her arms came down and wrapped around the smaller body pressed against hers. She inhaled deeply, nuzzling her face into the dark curls, allowing the scent to surround her, enveloping her. Once she finally felt back in control of herself, she pulled far enough back to see who it was she was holding onto so desperately. She was met with some of the brightest blue eyes she had ever seen and realized she hadn’t noted what color they had been the night before. 

Looking up at her with a worried expression was Frodo. This was real. There was no way he would ever have been part of a hallucination senario. She wasn’t in some drug induced mindscape- she would never be trapped there again. She huffed out a laugh that quickly turned into a sob, clutching Frodo to her tightly once more. She was overwhelmed by the force of the emotions running rampant through her body. The relief she felt only made her sob harder. No more experiments, no more cutting and manacles, no more dark cells or hallucinations. She was free. 

The small man seemed to understand some of her turmoil and returned her hug with a force that surprised her from someone so much smaller than even herself. He let her cry herself out, allowing her to shed all of the emotions that had been blocked off for so long. It was somewhat terrifying to feel so much so suddenly. 

As her sobs finally slowed into pathetic hiccups, Hermione relaxed her crushing grip, and pulled away. She was surprised to note that though Frodo’s eyes were full of concern there was no disgust or pity to be found there- for which she was extremely grateful. His concern almost made her sink back into a blubbering mess and she found herself taking a steadying breath to keep the tears at bay. She was done crying, now she wanted answers. 

She settled herself back against the wall with her legs crossed, but kept a firm grip on Frodo’s hand. She didn’t know what it was, but there was something incredibly soothing about her new companion. She knew if she wanted to remain calm during this interrogation, she would need all the help she could get. While she didn’t really know him or his friends, they were still the people she was most familiar with here. She had witnessed their kindness and caring first hand only moments after she came through the Veil, and instinctively knew that they would never intentionally allow anything or anyone to harm her. 

Once she felt she had control of her composure once again, Hermione turned her attention back to the old man sitting at the table. He hadn’t said a word nor made a move during her breakdown. He didn’t seem shocked by her outburst, nor did he seem uncomfortable, merely curious. Not knowing what he could possibly want, Hermione waited for him to speak. There were some habits she had learned from Azkaban that would be difficult to break. Her friends would never believe she was even capable of waiting someone out when it came to getting answers she wanted. Some scars couldn’t be seen on the outside. 

She must have unnerved him slightly with her unwavering stare, because finally the old man cleared his throat as he looked away before bringing his gaze back to hers once more. 

“It is certainly a comfort to see you finally with us my dear. It has been two weeks since you came to be with us. It would seem your magic thought you needed some time to heal. We were able to heal some of your minor injuries. Some of the more severe, we simply didn’t possess the proper knowledge to attempt to heal them. You are proving to be quite the mystery.”

The man pulled out a long pipe and began stuffing the end. She watched as he lit the end with a snap of his fingers and proceeded to puff away. If the small sigh he released was anything to go by, he was most certainly enjoying his smoke. Hermione felt a small pang in her chest. She hadn’t seen anyone use a pipe, let alone enjoy it so much, since her Grandfather had passed before she received her Hogwarts letter. 

She realized the old man was now waiting for her to contribute something to the conversation. She glanced sideways at Frodo, who had made himself comfortable beside her, and watched as he gave her a smile and a small nod. He seemed to trust this man, whoever he was. Another tug in her chest, told her that if he did, she could too. She hadn’t felt so reliant on someone since before Azkaban with Harry and Ron. 

She forcefully shoved any thoughts of her lost friends from her mind. While they had indeed made many wonderful memories together, the thoughts of her friends only ever dragged her back down into the darkness in her mind- a place she couldn’t afford to go right now, not if she wanted answers. 

She tried to speak but found her voice scratchy and harsh and immediately started to cough. She felt a cool cup pushed into her free hand and gratefully drank the water within. Now that her throat didn’t feel like a desert, she tried again. 

“Who are you?” It came out barely more than a whisper, though she was sure the man had heard her as he took the pipe from between his lips to reply. 

“My name is Gandalf the Grey, and you are currently in the city of Rivendell, home of the Eleven Lord Elrond and his folk.” 

Hermione looked more closely at the man before her with shrewd eyes. “Though you are not one of them.” It wasn’t a question. Though she had never seen an elf of this land, she knew there was no way the man before her could possibly be one of the fair folk. 

He gave a small chuckle, “Indeed, I am not, though Lord Elrond is an old friend of mine. I am a wizard, and it is lucky I was here when you arrived Miss Granger. You seem to have some magic of your own, and while the elves have some power, it is not the same as yours. You would not have survived your depletion had it not been for my efforts and young Mr. Frodo’s presence.” 

She gave him a questioning look. He had said she was unconscious for two weeks, yet the way he said it made it sound like it had been difficult to keep her alive all that time even though it was her magic that had put her under in the first place. 

Upon realizing her confusion, Gandalf elaborated, “While true you had been unconscious, you seemed to have episodes brought on by something causing an imbalance or fluctuation of your magic. My specific skill set was required to help contain some of your magic as it lashed out, while Frodo’s presence seemed to calm your magic into submission. We have all been terribly worried for you, my dear and I know there are some others who will be most excited to see you awake.”

Hermione allowed a small smile to form at the thought of her new friends being excited to see her for no other reason than they had been worried about her wellbeing. It still made her ridiculously giddy inside to think that she could have friends again- people who actually cared how she was doing. Even though they hadn’t known each other long, she still felt a fondness for the kind little men she had met upon stumbling into their world. 

She felt Frodo give her hand a reassuring pat that brought her attention back to him. She turned only far enough to look at him, without losing sight of this Gandalf character. She still wasn’t sure what to think of him. 

“If you’re up for it, Sam, Pippin, and Merry would really love to come and see you’re alright with their own eyes.” He gave her a searching look, obviously trying to decide the best course of action. Not trusting her voice at that moment, she could only nod. Actually hearing the words that someone cared about her was almost enough to send her back into hysterical tears. 

“I’ll just pop off to grab them then, shall I?” Frodo didn’t wait for a reply before he was resting on his knees and giving her a fierce hug, and she felt his breath across her ear as he whispered, “Thank you for saving my life, I will never forget what you have done for me.” With that, he hopped off her bed and scampered back out the door in search of his friends. 

The moment she lost contact with him, Hermione felt bereft of his company. She drew in a steadying breath, not wanting to show more weakness in front of the unknown wizard. She met his gaze, raising her chin, pulling together as much confidence as she could. 

“I think you’d better tell me exactly what is going on here as I seem to have landed in the middle of it.”


	5. Chapter 5

“What can you tell us about her magic, old friend?” The question was directed to the grey wizard as he exited the room where the girl who had saved Frodo was now resting. His two companions waiting solemnly in the hall for him to return with his hypothesis. The wizard wiped his face with a wrinkled hand, unsure how exactly to answer the elf Lord’s inquiry. Instead, he turned his attention to the third member of their group, who had been the only one to see her magic used intentionally. Though, her display when she had awoken had certainly been impressive, and that had been done without her even noticing. What kind of power could she wield when she put real force behind it? 

“Aragorn, the level of magic you claim to have witnessed should not be possible. Not even Saruman is strong enough to wield power as you described.” He didn’t want to believe it was possible, though he could no longer deny the truth behind such claims after having felt the magic practically radiating off her small body, and seeing it fill the small room.

“I would not have believed it myself had I not seen it with my own eyes. But there is no doubt in my mind of what I saw- that woman in there had almost single-handedly fought off all nine of the Riders.” While her actions had shown she had used magic before, the concentration on her face had shown Aragorn that she hadn’t expected it to manifest the way that it had. He tapped his finger against the arm crossed over his chest, losing himself in thought. 

The elf Lord watched the interaction with growing interest. He was by no means considered young, even among his kind, but he couldn’t think of a single thing that would cause someone’s magic to suddenly flare out of control unexpectedly. It would definitely require more research. He wondered if he should send word to the Lady Galadriel for her thoughts- he had already scoured nearly everything in his archives and had yet to find any mention of this Archway. 

The wizard turned his attention back to the frowning elf Lord, “I think the best course of action at this time would be to keep inquiring minds away from our guest, and allow her body to naturally regain its equilibrium. There’s no knowing what could happen if she were startled or stressed before she is ready. From what your daughter described of her injuries, the lady could certainly use the rest.” The wizard gave Elrond a knowing look, indicating exactly who should be kept away from the slumbering girl. Those hobbits were too curious for their own good sometimes. Someone should be posted at her door to intercede their attempts to enter. He had given Frodo permission simply because it helped calm her magic. The others would no doubt overwhelm the poor girl, and he would rather avoid leveling Rivendell if she couldn’t handle their badgering.

“If that is what you feel to be the best course of action, Gandalf, then so be it. I will inform the household that she is not to be disturbed for any reason. It may be prudent to keep her abilities as secret as possible. With the others coming for the council it would be sensible to keep any details from slipping from loose tongues. If Sauron were to catch wind of her abilities, he would stop at nothing to acquire her. There would be no hope of stopping him if he had access to her magic.” 

The trio shared a quiet moment, reflecting on what must be done to keep the girl safe from the returning Evil. Their thoughts were quickly interrupted by the laughing and shouts that could only announce the approach of the Shirefolk. 

Indicating down the hall with a motion of his hand Gandalf said, “Perhaps it would be better to continue this conversation away from prying ears. It might look rather suspicious if we were to be found loitering when they are informed she is not to be disturbed and is currently resting.” 

* * *

Sitting in his study the next day Elrond’s thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock. Bidding the guest to enter, he wasn’t the least bit surprised to see Gandalf emerge from behind the door. There was still much that needed to be discussed. Seating himself in the chair opposite the elf Lord, Gandalf heaved a tired sigh. 

“After searching many of your scrolls and tomes I believe I have found more answers as to where our young guest is from.” He placed a weathered scroll on the desk between them, pushing the edges out to show his old friend exactly what he had found in the bowels of the archives. “It seems she is not the first to have made an appearance at Weathertop through the archway found there. Though, there is no reference to  _ where _ the arch leads, this does describe those who came before. It says they had great power, the likes of which have never before, nor since, been seen in our world. They were nearly revered as gods by the ancient kings and peoples. Given the lack of information available, it would be prudent to ascertain her leanings. It would cripple us should she decide we are her enemies, though, having seen her interactions thus far concerning young Frodo, I feel confident we are not in any danger of her joining our enemies.”

“Indeed my old friend. The recounting from the halflings suggests her to be friend rather than foe. We can only hope her generosity will continue once she regains her strength. We have done all we can to heal her injuries, though some are foreign in nature to us, and we felt it prudent to let them heal in their own time, lest we make anything worse. Now I suppose all there is left to do is wait.”

The two friends sat in a tense silence, each lost to his own thoughts surrounding the curly-haired stranger in their midst. 

Gandalf was the first to break the silence, “The ring still must be destroyed. The girl’s appearance won’t change that. We cannot afford to delay any longer than is absolutely necessary. The others are on their way as we speak, the council will convene as planned. The only question is what part our new friend will play, she is far too powerful to be left out of this conflict. It’s only a matter of if she joins this fight with us, or forced against us.”

Elrond steepled his fingers under his chin, allowing his thoughts to flow as they would. “She cannot stay here. Saroun would lay waste to Rivendell immediately should he learn of her existence. Yet, I am not sure where she would possibly be safe from his grasp. You are the only Istar we have regular contact with these days, with Saruman retreating into his tower. You are the only one who could even begin to understand her magic, yet there is no question that you will accompany whomever bears the ring on its journey to destruction.” 

The Elf Lord fell silent, allowing the implications of his words to wash over the wizard before him. “You feel it better if she were to accompany me.” It wasn’t a question. “While the idea has merit my friend, I fear what would happen if we were to separate her from Frodo for an extended period of time. She hasn’t gone more than a few hours without needing his touch in the two weeks she has been here.” 

Silence filled the room once again as the pair lost themselves in their thoughts. While it made sense to have Hermione journey with him, there was no question in their minds that the Hobbits would stay behind. This trek would be difficult, and the Shirefolk were not made for such strain.

There was still the unspoken question of the Granger girl becoming an asset to their mission, or a hindrance.

* * *

Hermione let her fingers gently caress the leaves on the low hanging branch. She had so far been confined to her room and this small garden. She had been told it was to avoid overtaxing herself as she healed. She was beginning to wonder if it was to keep her away from everyone else as well, though it wasn’t clear if it was for her benefit or everyone else’s. Still, she couldn’t find it in herself to really complain. It was a far cry from a small, dingy, cell wondering what else could possibly be done to her. 

She did vaguely wonder what they were going to do with her, from the few whispered conversations she had overheard it was obvious she couldn’t stay here forever. The elves always vacated the garden whenever she approached so she had only been able to hear snippets as they left. Her presence clearly made them uncomfortable and she couldn’t imagine someone like Lord Elrond allowing his people to be wary in their own home for longer than was necessary. 

She tried not to let their avoidance bother her, she was a stranger here after all, but she couldn’t help the small sting every time she was once again left alone. The only people who spoke to her on a regular basis were Gandalf and Frodo, and she had a feeling Frodo was only allowed to visit because of the connection she had created between them. Nobody was willing to find out what would happen to her if she went too long without feeling his comfort. 

Her forced solitude had at least given her plenty of time to think over her sudden bond with the Halfling. The only conclusion that made sense, without any further way to research the situation, was that she had somehow created some sort of familial bond with him. Her best guess was that it had something to do with how much magic she had put into healing him. She had drained herself enough that her magic felt the need to make her basically comatose for two weeks before it felt she was strong enough to once again be in control. 

On one hand Hermione found it slightly unnerving that her magic was sentient enough to make those kinds of decisions, but she found in some twisted way it was also comforting- no matter what in this strange world, her magic would always act in her best interest. 

Sitting at the base of the tree, Hermione tried to relax. The magic was so potent here,  _ everything _ seemed to be pulsing with it. The tree against her back, the grass beneath her feet, even the small breeze that caressed her face, seemed to be near bursting with energy. It made it difficult for Hermione to ground herself and relax. She felt like she was constantly on edge, like she needed some way to expound all this new energy that was flowing through her body. Unfortunately, she had been asked rather pointedly not to attempt anything with magic until Gandalf and Frodo were both present in case she lost control. 

She had desperately tried to follow their wishes, she was an unexpected guest here after all, but the magic practically begged her to give in. It would push against her skin, raising goosebumps across her flesh, gently nudging against her, filling her so full she felt she would burst without some release. She had waited until well into the night before giving in to the need. She had tried some small magic, trying to avoid any notice just in case anyone was set to keep watch on her rooms. She learned that there was no need for incantations and fancy wand movements here- the magic was so young and ready to comply- not unlike a small child wanting to please. She had merely to focus on her desires and the magic complied. 

She had started off with something familiar, her bluebell flames, as she had never had any trouble conjuring the small fires. She hadn’t had any chance to figure out her magic since the surgery with her wand, so she was unsure how her magic would react to being directed. She was sure part of her susceptibility to the push of the magic was due to her condition, regardless of how much more alive everything felt here. 

As soon as the thought of the bright flame had crossed her mind, imagining a small light in the palm of her hand, the magic had complied. No incantations, no wand movements, only her needs and desires. The revelation was both heady and terrifying. She realized how careful she would need to be with her thoughts and wishes, which was mostly why she had welcomed her solitude. While it was incredibly lonely, she didn’t want to run the risk of accidentally causing harm to anyone just by having a negative thought about them. 

With a heavy sigh, Hermione pushed herself back to her feet, feeling suddenly exhausted from all the thoughts swirling around her brain, and the effort it took to ignore the magic begging to be used, ready at her fingertips. 

* * *

The next time Hermione made her way to what she had come to think of as  _ her _ garden, she was surprised to find Lord Elrond already seated on a bench that was almost completely obscured by rose bushes. She wouldn’t have noticed him at all if that hadn’t been where she was planning on hiding. 

Frodo had been trying all morning to convince her to come and dine with him and his friends. While she felt bad for her increasingly flimsy excuses, she knew that Lord Elrond and Gandalf wouldn’t approve of her spending time with the Shirefolk. Even without their directives, she still wouldn’t have been comfortable with all of them. She wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if one of them startled her and she lost control of the magic. Her grip was tenuous at best, and she just couldn’t bring herself to risk a sudden burst of flames and accidentally scorching anyone. 

She had recognized the stubborn look in the hobbit’s eye and knew he wouldn’t give up until she acquiesced. Thus, her attempt to hide from her friend. She knew she was running out of excuses, and willpower, to keep denying him what he so obviously wanted. 

Upon noticing the Elf Lord in her hiding place, Hermione stopped in her tracks. He had immediately made eye contact which completely negated any chance of running back to her room unnoticed. While she would forever be indebted to him, Hermione was sure he would always make her slightly uncomfortable. It wasn’t even him personally, it was most of the elves residing in Rivendell. They were all so regal and graceful, they made Hermione very aware of her own body in a way that made her want to hide away in her rooms. The only one who didn’t look at her with a calculating look was Lady Arwen, Lord Elrond’s daughter. Hermione was sure there wasn’t anyone, short of a troll, that wouldn’t love Arwen. 

There was something about the other woman that drew others to her, offering comfort and understanding. Hermione found herself slightly jealous of Arwen’s self assurance and confidence as well, and wondered if these were all gifts of the elven race, something she had learned, or if something the elf maiden had been born with. 

Summoning up as much of her Gryffindor courage as she could, Hermione forced herself to move forward, though she couldn’t bring herself to sit any closer to Lord Elrond than the farthest edge of the bench she could manage without falling off. Though the silence felt suffocating to her, Hermione was sure the elf lord beside her didn’t notice it- while she couldn’t stop her fingers from tangling themselves together and fidgeting, she noticed Elrond sat perfect still, completely relaxed. She felt that now familiar twinge of jealousy rise up at the regal figure he cut. He looked every inch the powerful Lord. 

Hermione jumped slightly when the elf seated next to her finally spoke, shocking her out of her musings. “It took quite the search but I was finally able to find reference to the runes upon your skin, I suppose you know their meaning?” 

It was more of an affirmation than a question. Yes, she knew their meaning, though she had expected them to fade away by now. If anybody would know the answer to that question in this world it would be the man seated beside her, so she shared her line of thought with him. 

He looked pensive for a moment before answering, “From my understanding of the magics you invoked, you are now the Keeper of the Arch- nobody may pass through without your blessing. I believe the runes to be an identifying mark to others. If they wish passage through the Arch, they must ask you for permission. The Arch is merely a pile of ancient, useless stone without your magic.”

That made sense in a way Hermione supposed. Though, she would rather not have people know of the control she had over a portal between worlds. That wasn’t exactly in line with the conspicuous life she was hoping to build here. 

“I will not ask for specifics from your world, I imagine the recollections would be somewhat painful if I’m right in my observations, though, I would ask to know more about your magic. It is different from anything I have seen in my many years upon this land. Even Gandalf, has informed me that it is unlike anything he has come into contact with as an Istar.” At the slight crease between her brows signsling her confusion Elrond elaborated, “someone who wields magics. There are only a handful of them here. It is not a common quality to possess.”

Hermione nodded along as she listened to Lord Elrond. She had often wondered at the lack of any other witches or wizards- called Istar here. She had assumed if there had been a higher population of those capable of using magic there would have been more of them present in a place like Rivendell- how much knowledge and history must be stored within these walls, it would take a lifetime and more to learn. Gandalf probably would have made mention as well if there had been others for her to talk to in regards to controlling her power in such a magically saturated world. 

“Has Gandalf informed you have the current happenings in our world?” The question slightly surprised Hermione as she had just assumed that Gandalf and Elrond spoke frequently, especially where she was concerned. She felt guilty for how much trouble her arrival must be causing them. After what Gandalf had told her, she was positive they had  _ much _ more important things to worry about than if she was suddenly startled and set something on fire accidentally. She felt like a child again, desperately trying to keep her emotions in check so she didn’t have any bursts of accidental magic. Though, it was slightly less stressful a task since she didn’t have to try and explain away these events to her muggle family and friends. If nothing else, she was grateful that magic was an acceptable norm here. 

“He told me a bit. I was still pretty tired when we spoke about it so i’m sure he gave me the abridged version. He didn’t tell me much beyond that there is an ancient evil rising once again, and that it is searching for some kind of weapon, something it had last time, to help it regain it’s full power and that Frodo is somehow involved.” She shrugged as she finished lamely. She had been fighting off sleep as Gandalf spoke to her so she was sure there were probably some things he had told her that she couldn’t remember perfectly.

Elrond nodded as she spoke. “That seems to be a very generalized version of our current state. The evil returning to our lands is known as Sauron the deceiver. Long ago there were twenty magical rings forged, given to those who ruled over the races. Three were given to the Elves, seven to the Dwarf-Lords, and nine for kings of mortal men. Sauron forged another ring in secret- one ring that was meant to rule over all the others. It twisted the minds of the mortal kings, and upon their deaths, were bound to servitude. Now they are nothing more than shadow and fear. This ring is partly to blame for the dwarves withdrawal into their stone halls. Rarely are they seen anymore, even among men, their greed has consumed most of them and convinced them that the rest of the world is not to be trusted with their wealth. The elves were not so easily swayed. As beings of Light, the power of the Ring cannot force its will upon them, though it is a continuous struggle to fight off the darkness that would gladly consume their souls. 

“This Ring is what Sauron seeks, if he were to gain possession of it, there is nothing in our world that could stop him. There will be a council soon to decide the best way to destroy the Ring before it can rejoin its master. The only way to truly destroy such an item is in the fires from which it was forged- Mount Doom. Whatever is decided by the council, Gandalf will undoubtedly join whomever is selected to accompany the Ring into Mordor.” 

He paused and watched her face, searching for any confusion or questions Hermione may have. Seeing none he continued, “We feel it would be best if you were to accompany them as well. I understand your magic is still unpredictable, but we feel it would be an asset on such a perilous journey. This decision was not made lightly, Lady Hermione. You cannot stay here. If Sauron learned of your presence he would not hesitate to lay waste to everything in his path in order to obtain you. We feel it would be safest for everyone if you were to stay with Gandalf. He can help you find focus and regain control of your magic, as well as contain any accidents that may arise should you lose control.”

Elrond finished speaking, allowing silence to fall heavily over them. It was a lot of information to be dumped on anyone and Hermione was grateful for the time he gave to process what she had just been told. As Elrond had told his story, she had already had a feeling of where he was going, but it was still a surprise to have him say the words aloud. She would not be staying here. She would be sent on another life-threatening journey. The world was in danger and it stood a better chance if she helped. Of course she couldn’t turn her back when they had all been so helpful and some even accepting- which was far more than she could have possibly dreamed when she fell through that Arch. If this was the only way for her to finally have the peaceful life she had barely dared to dream about then she would do everything in her power to help. 

She was also relieved to hear that she would be sticking close to the grey wizard. She wasn’t particularly fond of the man as a companion, but she had been secretly terrified of what would happen should he suddenly leave her. The idea scared her more than she cared to admit. What if she had a burst of magic and burned Rivendell to the ground? The very thought made her shudder in fear. 

She turned her body towards Elrond so she wouldn’t have to keep turning her head so far to look at him. She didn’t see any deception in him- nothing that suggested this was only a means to be rid of her, to make her quietly disappear. He seemed genuinely upset over the fate of his world. Though, she supposed he was probably an expert at hiding any ill intentions- living as long as he had would make anyone a true master of their emotions. Swallowing her insecurities, she had no other choice but to trust in these people.

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

Hermione took a deep breath. It was easy to get lost in the tranquility of Rivendell. None of the inhabitants seemed bothered by much of anything. Nobody was ever in a hurry, nor on edge. It probably had something to do with literally having all the time in the world at your disposal, she surmised. 

Sometimes she found the slow pace grating slightly on her nerves. From everything she had been told, surely the elves must be feeling some sense of trepidation and urgency? It seemed her need to help a lost cause in any capacity hadn’t been completely crushed by Azkaban. It left her feeling antsy, like she was supposed to be doing something. Instead, she was continually told to rest and allow her body and mind time to heal. Waiting had never been a strong point for Hermione, she was never truly content unless she felt her time was being spent wisely- in the pursuit of knowledge or for a good cause. Resting had always made her feel rather useless and lazy, a feeling the bookworm loathed. 

She was currently seated near a small pond, a gentle waterfall flowing from above, her back pressed against a stone wall that held another level of the gardens. It was peaceful and serene, the view was enough to take anyone’s breath away- and it was slowly making Hermione lose her mind. She rationalized that the weeks she had spent unconscious had been enough recuperation for her body, now she needed something to focus on, something to make her feel useful again. Hermione Granger did not do ‘idle’ well.

Hermione huffed a breath as her head fell back resting against the sun-warmed stonework, her brain trying desperately to find a way to be useful. Though Gandalf had told her this wasn’t her fight, she found she couldn’t just walk away. She was stuck here, probably for the rest of her life, and there was no way she could just sit back and watch as others tried to fight against the rising evil. She was in no hurry to tangle with darkness again, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she could be useful, and hopefully more successful this time. 

If she could just get her magic back under control, she was sure she would be an asset. As it was, she felt like a manticore in a glass house. Every emotion was so much more intense now, her magic simmering under the surface of her skin, just waiting to be released. She was sure it didn’t help any that magic felt stronger here- younger even. A wild force just waiting for a chance to stretch and be released. Everything around her seemed to practically vibrate with the effort to contain the magic. She wasn’t sure if the others even noticed it, or if they simply did a fantastic job of ignoring it. 

Hermione shook her head, they probably were completely oblivious to the pressing power all around them, having been born to this world of wild magic, unlike herself who came from a place where the magic felt old, like coxing a tired horse into one more ride. 

Opening her eyes, she squinted at the small pebbles littered around her that had started to float up from the ground. Even a mild feeling of annoyance and anxiety seemed enough to trigger her magic and she cursed, not for the first time, the Unspeakables that had fused her wand with her core. She had no doubts that was part of the problem. As soon as the process had been completed, she had a hard time reigning in her magic. What she wouldn’t give to be able to just relax her control for even a few minutes. She let out a heavy sigh, obviously meditating and clearing her mind were not helping her in feeling nothing. It seemed to just give her more time to brood. 

A crunch of gravel brought her out of her morose thoughts, turning slightly to see who had been brave enough to approach her. Since her display of power earlier in the week, Frodo seemed to be the only one willing to come near her. She couldn’t blame them, really. She was the unknown, and if there was anything she had learned in her short life, it was that people of all races feared things that were beyond their scope of experience. Even Elrond, who had dealt with all manner of powerful beings, seemed hesitant to interact with her. 

Lifting a hand to block the blinding raise of the sun, she found a much taller person than she had anticipated approaching her. Strider. What she wouldn’t give for a peek inside his brain. He was obviously brilliant and well educated, yet he didn’t seem to trouble himself with the comforts most sought in life. He seemed just as much at ease in his worn cloak and boots as he did in the well tailored finery of the elves. It seemed her manners had been drilled into her a little too well though, as she could never bring herself to ask him anything personal to glean some new tidbit about him. 

As she watched, the man approached her slowly, lowering himself to sit beside her, though not so close as to suggest anything untoward. Just another thing for her to get used to, the practically medieval manners. Hermione had very little sense of propriety left after living in a tent with boys for a year, and then having all sense of modesty stripped from her in Azkaban, she found their mannerisms rather amusing, even adorable at times. Though, she would never admit that allowed. She could only imagine how some of them would react to having the word ‘adorable’ applied to them. 

Her attention was brought back to the man sitting next to her as he cleared his throat, as if he wasn’t used to conversing with unfamiliar women. Definitely adorable. Though, probably true from what she had seen he tended to keep to himself, indulging in the company of few and most of them male. Arwen seemed to be the exception to that rule. She had witnessed for herself the easy conversation and gentle smiles exchanged between the two of them-smiles that only seemed to appear in the presence of the elven maiden. Hermione idly wondered to herself if there was something more to the endearing interactions she had seen.

“It would be a shame for an active mind such as yours to go to waste, Lady Hermione.” Hermione smiled ruefully. Hit the nail right on the head with that one. Though, it seemed he was the only one who shared her opinion. Everyone else kept telling her to rest. Merlin, if one more person told her to rest she would make sure they took a turn resting- see how much they enjoyed it. 

“I have to agree with you there, Strider, but it seems nobody else agrees with us.” Hermione glanced in his direction, wondering where he was going with this conversation. She felt a slight twinge of envy at his relaxed pose, so completely unruffled by anything. Complete control over his entire life. What she wouldn’t give for that kind of assurance. 

He turned his grey eyes to look directly at her, though his expression was serious, she found something delightfully playful hidden in their depths. 

“If you ever find yourself in need of a more stimulating activity than staring rather morosely into a pond, I’m sure you would find an activity to your liking in the clearing just past the wall there.” He pointed across the blossoming meadow towards a low stone wall, a small path bisecting it, leading off into the woods. 

Without another word, Strider was on his feet, walking towards the path he had just pointed out to her. Watching him walk away, her curiosity was peaked. She hadn’t had anything to stimulate her overactive brain in so long. There was no chance in Hades she was not going to follow his less-than-subtle hint. Without a second thought, she was up and following after him as quickly as her legs, and this bloody dress, would allow. While beautiful, the long gown tended to trip her up more than anything. She had never been one given to wearing dresses even before her life had completely imploded. 

Hermione silently gave thanks that the path through the trees was so obvious. She had lost sight of Strider and had never had the best sense of direction. It would have taken no time at all for her to become hopelessly lost out here. She knew Gandalf would be upset knowing she was running around in the woods instead of sitting quietly and “resting”, but in that moment she really couldn’t bring herself to care what the old wizard thought of her. His way was definitely not working for her and she would go mad before he felt she was ready to do anything useful. 

It only took a few minutes of her swift pace to come to a clearing. Stepping past the tree line, the air was suddenly filled with the ringing of clashing metal, the quiet whoosh of arrows let loose, and friendly banter. Hermione was surprised she hadn’t heard anything before stepping into the clear, though she surmised there must be some sort of silencing magic in place. Heaven forbid anything upset the tranquil atmosphere that was Rivendell. 

What lay before was a completely different setting- the excitement that came with physical exertion was thick in the air and Hermione felt herself slowly being drawn in by it. There were elves scattered around the clearing, all practicing some form of defence or another. There were a few elves sparring with swords, gentle ribbing barely heard over the din of the metal crashing together. On the far side of the clearing targets had been set up, and two elves, could be seen firing so quickly she couldn’t focus on the individual arrows flying through the air. 

Doing another scan of the clearing, Hermione finally caught sight of Strider leaning against a tree off to her right, carefully twirling a knife through his fingers. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth when she made eye contact with him. He quirked his head slightly motioning her over. 

Hermione found herself tripping more than once on her way around the edge of the clearing- the product of the long dress, and not watching where she was going. It was fascinating to watch the elves move. Before now she wouldn’t have been able to imagine the kind, soft-spoken elves using any kind of weaponry, let alone laughing loud enough to hear from such a distance. The most she had heard up to this point had been polite chuckles as they floated gracefully around the city. Even with the embarrassment of nearly falling twice she still found herself smiling by the time she reached Striders side. Judging by the shake of his shoulders, he was trying to hold in a laugh himself. She couldn’t really blame him though, she was sure she made quite a sight tripping across the field in the elegant dress- very much like a new foal finding his legs. 

If she had known him better she would have punched him in the arm, she only refrained because she wasn’t sure how such an action would be perceived here. From what she had witnessed of the interactions between the elves, women did not punch their friends. Hermione barely managed to keep in her sigh of frustration- there were so many things she was going to have to learn about this place if she was to live here for the rest of her life. 

She brought her attention back to the man standing next to her. Her body was practically thrumming with curiosity as to why he had brought her here. She was pretty sure Gandalf and Elrond would be displeased if she were to do anything as strenuous as sparing. It was definitely not considered a relaxing pastime. She idly watched the knife he had been continually threading through his fingers. 

“While this is a much more entertaining view than a waterfall and pond, I’m fairly sure Gandalf and Lord Elrond would be displeased if I suddenly leveled the woods with an accidental burst of magic,” Hermione said, crossing her arms and leaning against the same tree that was holding up Strider. “While it does look like a good time, I would also feel terrible for permanently ruining the field.” 

He quirked an eyebrow in reply, “Well, it’s fortunate you won’t be sparing then isn’t it?” 

Hermione’s cheeks flushed. She had just assumed his plan was to have her spar as a distraction. It hadn’t even occurred to her that there could be a different reason he had brought her out here. 

Her attention was drawn back to the man beside her as he pushed off the tree, coming to stand in front of her, the knife finally still between his fingers. He made sure she was looking at him before suddenly spinning the knife around, handle held out towards her. SHe gave him a questioning look, but took it nonetheless. 

The craftsmanship was truly remarkable. The handle a white bone of some kind, with delicate carvings of a creature resembling an elephant running the length of it. It had the smooth feel of an item well used, fitting comfortably in her hand. Though the handle gave way to how well used the knife was, the blade was certainly well cared for- sharpened to a fine point, the metal gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. She could tell it was well balanced as she examined it. It couldn’t have been longer than six inches and even with the beautiful craftsmanship there was no denying this was definitely a weapon and not just for decoration. 

Hermione lifted her gaze from the knife to the man before her, her brow furrowed in confusion. He said she wouldn’t be sparing with anyone, yet he was still handing her a weapon, his actions a stark contrast to his words. She had no idea what he wanted her to do with it as he stood before her, arms crossed over his chest, clearly waiting for her to do something. 

As the seconds ticked by she could see the confusion becoming more evident on Strider’s face. Having not even an inclination of what he expected her to do, Hermione chose to keep quiet and wait for him to give her some kind of direction. 

Her patience paid off as he let out a breath and held out his hand motioning for her to hand it back. She acquiesced, offering him the handle. He grasped it, pulling it away carefully so as not to cut her fingers on the sharp blade. She watched carefully as he began threading the blade through his fingers once again. He varied the speed, going so fast as to create a blur, before slowing down so she could see every individual movement his long fingers made, before picking up the speed once again. 

“I know you would prefer to peruse Lord Elrond’s library, but as you are currently barred from the strenuous work of wandering through the many shelves and halls. This is merely meant to give you something to focus your mind on. I myself find it relaxing and allows me to focus my wandering thoughts, or to simply empty my mind, thinking of nothing but the movement of the blade, from one finger to the next.”

Understand clicked in Hermione’s mind and she offered the man before her a genuine smile. It was touching that a man who appeared so self possessed would share his secrets, admitting to her his own shortcomings, while simultaneously offering her something to keep herself occupied- now she would have a goal. It may not have been anything significant to work towards, but it was a start and it was more than anybody else in Rivendell had offered her- aside from Arwen for trying to sneak her into the library. 

He held the handle back towards her. This time she accepted it with a small amount of trepidation. A wand was one thing, it didn’t have any sharp edges that could possibly cut her fingers off. She was nervous about the state her fingers would be in if she managed to thread the blade through her fingers with anything nearing Strider’s skill. 

As if sensing her trepidation, her magic flared through her fingertips- a bright burst of flame suddenly engulfing the entire length of the small blade. To his credit, Strider’s only reaction was a small twitch of his body away from the flame. She was slightly embarrassed how good it felt that he hadn’t completely jumped away, or run from her in fear. He didn’t even look afraid of her, if anything he seemed fascinated by what he had just seen. 

Inspecting the knife closely after the flame died away, Hermione was hard pressed to find anything different, until she ran her finger across the blade, eliciting another smile. The once razor sharp edge was now completely blunted. Without conscious thought her magic had responded to her trepidation, keeping her safe, and allaying her fears. Now she could practice without the possibility of losing any of her fingers. 

She did note the slight concern now maring Strider’s features at seeing her finger run down the blade with no ill effect. “It’s reversible.” She couldn’t bear to have him regret his decision to help her- so many of the elves avoided her and the hobbits only wanted to see party tricks, she had realized the extent of her loneliness the moment his olive branch could suddenly be snatched away. She needed to reassure him that his gift wasn’t permanently made useless in case he decided she wasn’t worth the effort. 

Her words seemed to have the desired effect on him as his shoulders seemed to sag marginally. He gave her a nod, and then motioned once again to the blade in her hand, waiting for her to begin. 

Hermione felt a little bit silly trying to twist the knife through her fingers, but she supposed even someone as skilled as Strider had to start somewhere. She could put some of his skill down to talent, but it was doubtlessly enhanced by hours of practice, which led her to wonder just how often he had found the need to still his thoughts in such a fashion. 

He watched her for a few more uncomfortable moments before he seemed to realize her frustration was mounting at not being able to pick up the skill as quickly as she thought she should. Having not seen the quick look of decision cross his face, Hermione was surprised when his fingers gently closed around her bicep. The unexpected contact had the knife slipping through her fingers, landing on the grass with a soft thud. She could feel the blood flushing her cheeks to an almost unbearable degree. Trying to cover her surprise she shrugged out of his grip and quickly snatched up the fallen blade, before straightening and looking at him expectantly. 

Strider seemed to realize how uncomfortable his sudden movement had made her and if she wasn’t mistaken, there was a slight staining of his own cheeks. 

He cleared his throat as he looked away from the witch gesturing toward the tree line. “You may be more comfortable practicing over here. I’m sure your strength hasn’t fully recovered and it may be easier for you if you were to sit while you practice.” He made no mention of her obvious discomfort that others could watch her struggle with the movements where they were currently standing, for which Hermione was thankful- though, she was sure he was aware of it. She felt like she was wearing a big flashing sign advertising her frustration and embarrassment. 

Without another word he gently pulled her into the trees. There was no discernable path that Hermione could see, but her companion seemed to know exactly where he was leading her. They hadn’t gone far before he stopped and motioned towards a fallen tree- the perfect height to sit comfortably, and far enough away from the clearing so others wouldn’t see her there unless they looked closely without impeding her view of those sparing. 

She gratefully sank onto the tree, trying to situate her long skirts comfortably as they kept catching on the sparse underbrush. When she turned her attention back to Strider he gave a short bow, excusing himself, before he strode away without another word. 

Now left alone in the woods, Hermione was able to truly appreciate the beauty and peace of this out of the way spot. While the gardens and layout of Rivendell were breathtaking, there was something so much simpler and soothing about this unkempt area. Hermione was able to connect with its rougher edges while still offering safety. Stealing herself to the task set before her, Hermione once again turned her attention to the blade in her hand, determined to make some progress before retiring to her room for the night.


	7. Chapter 7

Nearly a month after Hermione had awoken in Rivendell she found herself sitting with Arwen in an alcove overlooking the entire city. She would never tire of the view from this position- it was truly something right out of a muggle fairy tale she had only ever dreamed of as a child before she learned just how real magic was. 

When she had finally been declared well enough to go traipsing through the archives, Hermione had run there, all decorum forgotten. Arwen had found her holed up at a corner table with mounds of scrolls and tombs scattered around her. It was obvious she was trying to absorb all the knowledge she could just in case they changed their minds. Arwen had laughed when Hermione had complained that she couldn’t read any of it, as it was all in elvish. The elf maiden had adamantly assured her that the written word was not going anywhere and that she would teach Hermione how to read it herself if she would just come away long enough for dinner. 

Their time together had become a highlight for Hermione. She had always had a knack for picking up languages and this one seemed no different. She had moved beyond the children’s primer books Arwen had managed to dig up for her and could now read through the majority of what the archives held, though, she occasionally had to double check with Arwen how to pronounce anything new. 

Her favourite was by far the history. Too bad there hadn’t been an elf teaching History of Magic at Hogwarts- the class would have been far more interesting. She supposed just about anything would have made it more interesting really, nothing was as dull as Binns droning on about another indistinguishable goblin war. Even Hermione had a difficult time keeping all the names and dates right. 

But this- this was something else. Either the fair race taught their children the art of storytelling, or they all were naturally gifted. She wasn’t completely convinced it wasn’t natural after watching the elves excel at just about everything else they set their minds to. Whomever had written these stories had somehow managed to make even the most mundane and peaceful times sound poetic and exciting. Arwen often teased her for her enthusiasm to read more history, but often indulged her new obsession and even brought her hidden gems from the archives that she knew the witch would love. 

Hermione had decided to take a small break before continuing with her current recounting and instead watched as Arwen restrung a harp. Her long, thin fingers seemed perfectly suited to the delicate work. Hermione marveled at the skill the elf possessed, that she could make something as simple as restringing a harp look like a form of art all its own. The movements vaguely reminded her of the day Strider had taught her to twist the small knife- that was now strapped to her boot- through her fingers. 

“You know, for a Ranger who seems to live on the road, Strider possesses almost as much grace in his movements as you do.” The words had spilled from her mouth before she had really thought about what she was saying. Arwen’s tinkling laugh answered her statement.

“As well he should. He grew up here.”

This surprised Hermione. She had a difficult time picturing Strider as a boy, learning things like music and art amongst the fair elves, and it was obvious he wasn’t an elf himself though she supposed he could have elf blood in him. That would make more sense as to why he would grow up here instead of amongst mortal men. 

“Does he have elf blood in him then? I just have a hard time imagining such a man enjoying a comfortable life in the peace that Rivendell offers.” A blush stained her cheeks and she hoped her new friend wouldn’t think her rude for asking. She had never been prone to gossip but she was dreadfully curious about the quiet man. 

Arwen laid the harp across her lap as her eyes lost focus as she gazed out at the city spread below them, her voice taking on a far away quality as if dredging up old memories. “No, he is not of our blood. He and his mother came to us when he was very young, seeking asylum. He is not like the rest of mortal men, neither is he an elf. His people have always existed somewhere in between. They were known as the Numenor, and came across the seas, establishing kingdoms in the lands south. His blood were called the Dunedain, mostly rulers among these men. Many intermingled with what were considered ‘lesser men’ and lost the gifts granted them. There are few of them left wandering the lands, we now called them Rangers as they rarely settle in any one place, though they still follow the oaths their fathers made before them to protect those who inhabit these lands from those who would seek to destroy them.” 

Hermione was completely enthralled by Arwen’s tale, and had completely forgotten about the book resting in her lap. This was the most she had managed to learn about the enigmatic man, and she refused to let the chance pass her by. 

“One of these gifts was an elongated lifespan- not so long as a true elf, though much longer than the average man. Our mutual friend is one such individual. He has used his extended years to learn many a skill, at the hands of some of the finest masters available- mostly elves which is why our mannerisms may sometimes seem similar- we shared many of the same tutors.”

Before she could stop herself Hermione blurted, “How old is he then? He can’t be more than thirty yet you speak as if you’ve known one another much longer than that.” Her face flamed in embarrassment at her impertinence and was thankful the only one around to hear was Arwen who would never judge her. 

Instead the elf laughed softly, “You’ll just have to ask him that yourself, Hermione. It’s amazing the things one can learn through conversation, instead of disappearing into the shadows..” 

There was nothing she could say in return to that. She had hoped nobody had noticed her awkward avoidance of the man. While she deeply appreciated his efforts to teach her anything she was willing to learn from him, he always managed to make her feel like a fumbling schoolgirl again, a feeling that she did not appreciate. So, she had taken to disappearing whenever she noticed he was nearby. She felt incredibly silly for developing a crush on someone she hardly knew. She had decided the best way to avoid potentially embarrassing herself in front of him was to avoid him altogether. 

“In fact, my friend, I believe your chance is quickly approaching.” The amusement in Arwen’s voice was lost to Hermione as she whipped around in a panic desperately trying to find somewhere to hide herself away before the Ranger noticed her presence. Luck was not on her side this time- there was nowhere to hide, and he would spot her immediately if she ran away from him outright. There were only two exits back into the city proper from where they sat and both were situated within thirty feet of each other, with no cover to hide behind in between them.

Hermione whirled around and glared as best she could at the elf who was only marginally succeeding at smothering her laughter at the predicament she found herself in. She knew her new friend wasn’t being malicious, and she was certain she probably did look absolutely ridiculous whipping back and forth as she was, but she could be upset that she hadn’t received any kind of warning until it was too late to make herself scarce. 

She closed her eyes in defeat, praying that he would just give them his message and then leave- no loitering for conversation.


	8. Chapter 8

It turned out Aragorn had been sent to fetch Hermione as her presence was requested. She had a notion what the meeting was about as there had been quite a bit of chatter- for elves- about the delegations coming to Rivendell. Though Hermione knew she would be accompanying Gandalf wherever his road led, she was slightly surprised that they would request her to be present during the council. She wasn’t from this world, nor did she represent and speak for any group of people. To be honest, she thought of herself as more of a third party observer to the mission. Sure, she would be present but she didn’t really see herself as part of the quest itself. 

Hermione forced her thoughts back to the present moment as she followed Aragorn into a circular courtyard. There were elegant chairs and benches lining the outer area, a stone dias sitting in the middle. She was surprised to note the presence of Frodo, though she supposed having already carried the ring, he had more right to be there than almost anyone else. 

The others present didn’t surprise Hermione as much, though she was fascinated to finally get a good look at the dwarves and men of this world. True, she had spent some time with Aragorn but didn’t really count him among what would be considered typical humans of this world, especially after her conversation with Arwen. 

Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, Hermione slid into the empty seat beside Frodo that was mercifully next to the courtyard’s entrance while Aragorn continued his path to take his seat beside Gandalf. Unfortunately, her entrance wasn’t as unnoticed as she had hoped and there was an immediate hush as the others present took notice.

“I believe you will find the gardens more to your taste today, my lady,” a striking man with blond hair said, his voice carrying across the empty space as the others began whispering to one another. 

Hermione opened her mouth to inform him that she had been specifically asked to be here, but snapped her mouth shut when Gandalf beat her to it. “She has been asked to join us here as she is powerful in her own right, and her fate hangs as much in the balance as any others.” 

Hearing his statement a dwarf with wild red hair scoffed, “Everyone’s fate hangs in the balance. What makes this maiden so special as to be included in our council. I would think a people as soft as the elves would want to keep their maidens away from such a meeting. There is naught but death and war to be discussed here.”

She didn’t even realize she was glowering darkly at the dwarf until she felt Frodo nudge her. Glancing down at the hobbit she saw him trying to fight back a laugh at anybody speaking of Hermione as if she was some delicate, swooning maid. He knew she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, having witnessed her flames on weathertop and then saving him from the Riders. 

“This is not a conversation for those of a delicate constitution, Gandalf. I must insist she be removed from this council for her own wellbeing.” This time it had been one of the elves who had spoken up. Obviously, he wasn’t a resident of Rivendell or he would have been more wary of trying to speak around her. 

A sudden hush fell over the group as all eyes turned in her direction. Confused and angry, Hermione continued to stew in her resentment at being treated like she wasn’t even there, as if she needed a man’s permission to be present. Feeling a small hand slide into hers Hermione looked down, only to realize the reason for the wary looks she was suddenly receiving. Flames were dancing along her skin as she stood from her seat, her hands completely encased as the orange and red creeped up her arms. Despite the inferno she emanating from her body Frodo had managed to crasp her hand in an attempt to ground her once again. 

Taking a shuddering breath in, Hermione closed her eyes in an attempt to reign in her emotions. Once she felt she was once again in control and the flames had died away, she regained her seat. She refused to look up as she adjusted her skirts, not wanting to see the looks of fear and apprehension she knew would be leveled at her from the others. 

“How is this possible? There are no female Istar in all the lands of Middle Earth, nor has there ever been.” The blond man spoke in an almost reverent tone. His words seemed to break the spell of silence over the rest of the council and the whispering began anew. 

Not knowing how to address such a statement Hermione turned to Gandalf with a shrug, silently asking for his help in handling this. Understanding her que, Gandalf stood and all further conversation ceased. 

“While the Lady Hermione does wield power, she is not Istar. Her magics are known only to herself. Know however that she is here to assist this council, not as an enemy. Should Souron learn of her existence he will search for her almost as mercilessly as he does the ring- which brings us to the reason behind this council.”

Hermione’s thoughts started to drift as Gandalf continued explaining the situation to the others. How the Ring of Power had been found, how it’s master seeks it, the rising darkness and unrest emanating from Mordor, and the need to destroy the ring. She vaguely registered the clothes arguing with Gandalf- some wishing to use the ring, others simply because they refused to see another race carry the ring. It all seemed very petty after the existence Hermione had known after Harry’s death. 

Her thoughts continued to wander until a voice boomed louder than the others; a harsh language she had never heard before that sent shivers down her spine. Bringing her attention back to the council she glanced around at what could have prompted such an occurrence. Her eyes landed on Lord Elrond and realized he was shaken by the strange words as well. 

“Never before have those words been uttered here before.” His voice made the words sound like a chastisement and she realized he was addressing Gandalf. Hermione physically shook her body, trying to free herself of the dirty feeling that had settled on her skin after hearing the strange language. 

Gandalf didn’t seem repentant in the least, he almost seemed rather satisfied with himself now that everyone had stopped arguing amongst themselves. “And if our mission should fail and the ring falls into the hands of our enemies, the tongue of Mordor will be heard throughout the lands of Middle Earth.” 

Merlin, that was the language spoken in Mordor? Hermione shuddered again at the thought of how truly foul the beings who resided there must be to have such disturbing speech. 

Before anybody else could start their previous arguments again, Frodo stood from his seat. Hermione could sense his distress through their link, having practiced focusing on it so she wouldn’t need to feel Frodo’s physical presence all the time. Dread pooled in her stomach at the resolve she felt settling over her small friend. 

“I will take it. I will take the ring to Mordor.” His words confirmed what Hermione had dreaded. This hobbit would surely have been sorted into Gryffindor with his brave and loyal heart. “Though, I do not know the way.” She couldn’t help the small smile as he shrugged with the last part but her heart clenched at the thought of this sweet, honest man traveling to Mordor to destroy the ring. Though she had small comfort to know she and Gandalf would be accompanying him as the wizard reassured the hobbit that he would help him. 

Hermione watched in amazement as others began to step forward and offer their services to the ring bearer. They may squabble like children amongst themselves, but none could deny the effect his words had on those present. If one so small and innocent could put aside his comfortable life and volunteer for such a venture, maybe there was hope for the races of middle earth after all. 

She was less surprised to hear the shouts of Sam, Merry and Pippin shortly after the others proclaimed their allegiance. Though he was much quieter and unassuming, the other hobbits seemed to follow Frodo’s lead; especially dear Sam. He would follow his friend through hell itself, which is exactly what Hermione feared this quest would become.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been soooooo long! Ive had zero motivation to really get anything done and my writing has definitely suffered for it. Just know that the next chapter has already been started and hopefully I'll have more updates sooner rather than later. I apologize that this chapter is pretty short with how long it has taken to write it, it's more filler than anything and so I just anted to move along.

Finding a quiet moment for herself had become surprisingly difficult once the council had concluded and preparations began. The delegations prepared to return to their homes while those accompanying the ring readied themselves as best they could for the long journey ahead of them. With so many people trying to complete their tasks before departure Hermione found herself continually interrupted almost every time she tried to meditate and ground herself. Gandalf had given her a few techniques that would hopefully help her regain control of her emotions and, by extension, her magic.The journey to Mordor would be perilous enough without her setting everything on fire every time she felt a strong emotion. 

With all of the hustle and bustle Hermione didn’t see much of Aragorn. As someone so familiar with Rivendell it seemed he was the best suited to help prepare their comrades with provisions that were available; not to mention having to continuously settle disputes between the visiting dwarves and the resident elves. Not a day went by without hearing them bickering with one another over some perceived slight or other. She rolled her eyes as she vacated yet another courtyard while one such argument escalated. She gave Aragorn a sympathetic smile as he rushed past her to smooth out the latest issue. She didn’t envy him in the slightest. Thankfully the delegations would be returning home in the morning and the fellowship shortly thereafter. 

Hermione was beginning to feel antsy again. While she appreciated the gesture Aragorn had made with the knife she was still having a difficult time getting it right. The frustration only added to her already frayed nerves. Her war developed instincts screamed that she had been stationary for too long. While she hadn’t been idle during her stay in Rivendell she was fairly certain the last time before Azkaban that she had stayed in one place so long had been her Hogwarts years. 

Deciding it would be futile to try and find a quiet place in the gardens Hermione began the walk back to her room. While it was a beautiful room and about the farthest thing a room could be compared to her cell in Azkaban, there was just something about a closed door that always left her anxious. While logically she knew she was perfectly welcome to wander the city, there was always a niggling in the back of her mind that one day the door would be locked again and she would be trapped. She spent as little time in her room as possible, though it seemed now there was no other option with everything else happening around her. 

After wandering as slowly as possible toward her room Hermione decided to go looking for the hobbits. She was rather surprised at how scarce they had become after the council dismissed. She would have thought such sheltered but outgoing people would have wanted to be right in the middle of all the chaos. While that had certainly been true of Merry and Pippin at first, even a sighting of them had become less and less common. 

With her improved situation in life and come the return of her insatiable curiosity. While it no longer drove her to near obsession, she couldn’t deny that she was deeply curious what the hobbits could be up to. The most logical place to begin her search would be their rooms, followed by the courtyards and gardens in the surrounding area. With a destination decided Hermione changed directions towards where she knew the hobbits had taken up residence. 

Searching the two rooms the hobbits shared proved fruitless. As did the gardens and courtyard nearest to their rooms. Hermione huffed and placed her closed fists on her hips as she tried to think of where they could have possibly disappeared to. They weren’t fighters in any sense so they weren’t likely to be found at the training grounds. Nor were they skilled horsemen or considered diplomatic so they wouldn’t be helping departure preparations. As this was their first time ever being out of the Shire it was highly unlikely they would be with Gandalf determining their course. What interests and talents could the shirefolk have that would give her a lead as to their whereabouts? 

Standing in the gardens lost to her thoughts it took Hermione a moment to realize that there was a distinct aroma that was very out of place amongst the flowers and shrubs. The smell was making her mouth water and her stomach gave a lurch when she remembered it had been some hours since breakfast and she had missed lunch. Placing her hand to her overeager stomach Hermione was hit with a sudden thought. She knew  _ exactly _ where she would find the halflings. 

A grin spread across her face as she took off in the direction of the dwarves rooms. While her first thought had been the kitchens she knew the hobbits weren’t overly impressed with the vegetarian cuisine offered by the elves. They were much more suited to the dwarves dietary preferences that were heavy in proteins and carbs. She wondered vaguely if they had been able to sweet talk the dwarves into sharing or if Merry and Pippin and simply been pilfering from the mountain folk, though she didn’t have to wait long for an answer. 

As she neared the dwarves quarters she could hear shouting and raised voices. While the dwarves could certainly turn blustery while in conversation with the elves, this sounded distinctly less hostile and moreso like surprised indignation. Turning a corner she could see the delegation that would be leaving in the morning checking each of their packs in surprise. From what she could hear at least three of them were missing a good portion of the warm heavy bread they prefered. She supposed that answered that question; definitely pilfering. 

Hermione took a step back behind a tree to hide her from the dwarves view lest they blame her for their missing goods. She knew the miscreants would still be nearby somewhere. They loved to watch the mayhem they caused almost as much as they enjoyed the spoils of their efforts. The shaking of a nearby shrub gave her a pretty good idea of where the perpetrators were hiding and by how much the branches were quivering they were trying rather unsuccessfully to contain their mirth. 

She knew it would only be a matter of time before the distressed dwarves noticed the unnatural movement and came to investigate and decided to settle in to watch the fireworks. The pair of rambunctious hobbits reminded her so much of the Weasley twins during their Hogwarts years and had been soaking up their lively energy like a dying plant that has finally been brought out into the sun. 

Sure enough, the dwarves noticed the unnatural movement of the greenery and immediately went to investigate. While they may put on a stern front, Hermione had come to know that the mountain folk had a soft spot for the halflings and no serious harm would come to the troublemakers at their hand. 

Merry and Pippin must have been completely absorbed in their victory because they didn’t notice the approach of heavy boots. She couldn’t contain her laughter at the sound the pair made when a thick arm brushed aside their hiding place with ease, leaving them completely exposed with their cheeks bulging with their stolen goods. She was impressed with how quickly the dwarves moved to catch the little thieves while wearing so many heavy layers though they were no match for the lightfooted duo. In the end they were no match against the pilfering hobbits though she doubted the dwarves were really trying. They seemed to enjoy the game as much as she did. 

Feeling a tug on her dress Hermione turned to see who it was that needed her attention though she had her suspicions.. Sure enough it was the other half of the group. Sam and Frodo always seemed to prefer watching than actually participating in the shenannigans the other two seemed quite fond of and so usually ended up hiding so they wouldn’t get blamed along with the guilty party. 

She allowed herself to be led back towards the hobbits quarters glad that she had been right and hadn’t needed to continue her search for the halflings. When they reached the garden nearest the hobbits rooms they each threw themselves down on the grass enjoying a good laugh as they mimicked Merry and Pippins bulging cheeks until the guilty party arrived and shared what was left of their spoils. 

While her life had never been easy she was glad to realize she could still enjoy these moments, that Azkaban hadn’t completely ruined her soul. While it had left some undeniable scars, both physical and mental, they hadn’t managed to completely extinguish her fire it would seem. It may have only been a small victory in the grand scheme of things she clung to that knowledge. They had taken so much from her, destroyed so much of who she was as a human being, but it would seem they had failed to erase her completely and that, she decided, was worth celebrating. And she planned to enjoy every moment she could out of this new life that fate had granted her in this new world. 

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 chapters in the same week! Crazy! Must have finally got my groove back! Hope you enjoy and thanks for sticking with me even though my updates are so sporadic and sparse.

Hermione was extremely thankful for having been able to gain some muscle mass back since she had escaped through the arch before her departure from Rivendell. Even with having gained back a more human figure instead of the skeleton she had been, her legs were protesting loudly after their first few days of walking. She was sure her body had never resisted physical activity like this when she had been in Hogwarts. Though, back then she had been climbing countless staircases daily, had been quite a bit younger, and wasn’t recovering form near starvation and endless experimentation. Her time since leaving school had not been kind to her body and she couldn’t believe how much all this walking was affecting her.

Every night once they stopped to make camp she tried to be helpful but was always shrugged off and told to rest with varying degrees of courtesy. Everyone seemed to have a job except her and while this grated against her need to prove herself useful she also couldn’t deny that she was extremely grateful to pull out her bedroll and succumb to sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. 

While she was most definitely grateful she was allowed to just drift off Hermione began to notice it was taking a toll on her relations with the other members of the fellowship. None seemed to begrudge her the needed rest as it was obvious her body wasn’t as used to this much movement as all of theirs were but she did notice that she was continually missing out on things. There wasn’t a lot of socializing happening during the day, each lost in their own thoughts and she doubted very much if these men would enjoy any of her silly hiking songs and games she had learned as a child. Most of the talking happened in the morning as they broke camp or the evening when they stopped. The others all seemed to be getting to know each other better and even some inside jokes began to crop up and Hermione couldn’t help feeling like that lost little eleven year old girl who had cried in a bathroom her first year at Hogwarts. 

The hobbits all made an effort to include her in the mornings but their jovial moods quieted as they set out and Aragorn always made sure she was awake to have some supper but her exhausted body always demanded she return to sleep after satisfying the rumblings of her belly. Most mornings she was pulled aside by Gandalf and instructed to meditate and focus her magic so she wouldn’t have any outbursts in case of any surprises during the day. She had begun to wonder if she couldn’t as easily accomplish this during the long hours of walking instead. She was tired of feeling like she was missing out on something important. She promised herself when they stopped that night she would find something useful to do and would only fall asleep after they had eaten supper. 

Pulling herself from her musings she noticed the others had already dropped their packs and had begun the evening routine of setting up camp. Squaring her shoulders in determination after dropping her own pack Hermione set off after the hobbits. As they were tasked with collecting firewood she figured it would be easy enough to help them without getting in anyone else’s way. Disrupting the natural flow of their routine would not earn her any favours with these people. 

At first the hobbits seemed surprised to see her join them though aside from some light ribbing nobody commented on it. While she could still feel her body fighting fatigue she was also immensely enjoying listening to their playful banter. She laughed along with the others as they teased sweet Sam about a crush he’d had before they set out. Merry and Pippin told stories of their many adventures causing mischief and mayhem; most of these stories seemed to revolve around stealing food. 

Frodo only added comments here and there as happy to observe the others as she was. She hadn’t had a chance to get to know Frodo before the attack at Weathertop and so she couldn’t be sure if this was a new development or if he had always preferred to be on the periphery of conversation. Not that she could blame him, you never lived through something traumatising like thast without coming out changed in some way. She was still flinching away from sudden movement or unexpected noises around them. She hadn’t noticed it as much in Rivendell where everything was calm and the elves always moved gracefully in a sedate manner. Out here in the wilderness there was any number of wild animals scurrying about and making noise. 

Having become lost to her thoughts again Hermione hadn’t noticed the others head back to camp once their little arms were full of wood. It was probably best she join them even if she could have added a bit more to her stack. She didn’t to be caught by surprise by something lurking about. Besides, the whole point of forcing herself to help was so she wouldn’t miss out on anything. Being alone in the woods most definitely didn’t help her accomplish her goals. 

Upon reentering their camp Hermione took note of what everyone else was doing as she didn’t actually know what the others did before supper. Sam and Aragorn appeared to be in charge of their evening meal while Gimgli skinned some small creature he must of caught. She didn’t know where Boromir had gotten too but Legolas was testing the string of his bow while Gandalf seemed content to sit back and smoke his pipe. 

Hearing the familiar  _ whoosh _ of an arrow Hermione turned in time to see one of the elf’s arrows become lodged in a target he had set up some distance away. She would have thought it impossible for him to actually hit if she hadn’t spent so much time around the elves training in Rivendell. Having seen just how keen their eyesight is firsthand she was still suitably impressed with his shot. Seeing there didn’t seem to be much else for her to help with she decided to sit far enough back so she wasn’t in his way but still had a good view of the target. 

She must not have been as unobtrusive as she had hoped because after his third shot Legolas had started to speak.

“Tell me, how is your skill with the bow?” 

Hermione flushed at the question. While she had continued practicing with Aragorn’s knife no one had seemed keen to the idea of teaching her to use any other weapons when she had still been having troubles with her magic. 

Having peeked over his shoulder Legolas gently laughed upon noticing how red her face had become.Correctly interpreting her silence he gestured for her to join him. 

As she came to stand beside him he held out his bow and an arrow for her to try. Having never even  _ held _ a bow Hermione made no move to take them and instead just stared at the pieces of wood with apprehension. 

Their interaction had not gone unnoticed by the others. Aragorn, who must have finished helping Sam, had joined them with a bow of his own. 

“Don’t forget Legolas, while she may have magic she does not possess the strength of your kin. Perhaps something made for the hands of man would be more suitable.” Though his face appeared solemn his tone was light and teasing as he held out his own weapon for her to take. Not seeing a way out of her predicament she finally grabbed hold of Aragorn’s bow figuring she was more likely to be successful with it than the elegant weapon the elf offered. She made sure to offer Legolas a small smile and accepted his arrow to show she wasn’t trying to snub his offer, merely trying to be practical. 

Having only Robin Hood films from her childhood has a reference Hermione attempted to take an appropriate stance. The suppressed laugh-turned-cough behind her told her she hadn’t been very successful. Legolas seemed thoroughly amused as well and more than happy to watch as Aragorn moved to correct her form. 

Just as the ranger came to stand behind her Sam called to him from beside the fire. She tried to hide her disappointment as he excused himself to assist the halfling. Seeing as it was just the two of them left Legolas took the now vacant spot beside and slightly behind her. He adjusted her grip on the bow and the arrow, corrected her stance and then moved behind her completely to see if she could even manage to pull back the string. 

Having chosen a bow made for humans rather than elves she was still surprised at how difficult it was to pull back. She was determined to at least get an arrow off however and pushed through the trembling in her muscles. 

She hadn’t even noticed the elf move closer to her until she felt his breath against her ear and watched his hands come into her field of vision, placing them over her own in order to assist. 

“Don’t hold your breath as you pull back. You will end up releasing it at the same time as your arrow causing it to go wide. Try to keep your breaths even and relaxed. You will be releasing the arrow so try not to grasp it so firmly. It should be resting gently against your finger. When you feel ready, release.” He stepped back as he said the last word, giving her the space she would need. 

Taking the elf’s words to heart Hermione tried to slow her breathing and relax her grip without losing the arrow yet. Just as she felt ready to release a snapping of a twig surprised her causing her to yelp and lose her grip. While her arrow did shoot wide she was shocked to see it was completely incased in flame.She watched as it lodged in a tree a good twenty feet from where she had been aiming and was snapped into action when she realized the flame was beginning to spread up the tree. 

She dropped the bow unceremoniously and ran towards the spreading fire knowing she needed to stop it before it consumed the entire wood. Though she had only thus far been able to produce flame Hermione prayed to whatever deity may be listening that she could conjure up some water this time. 

As she neared the tree she reached out to her surroundings like Gandalf had instructed, trying to feel give direction to magic that buzzed in the air. Coming to a stop and taking a deep breath she thrust her hand forward channeling the magic through her outstretched fingers. 

To her complete surprise a tidal wave completely drenched the tree before her extinguishing every spark. She would have continued to stare with her mouth hanging open if someone hadn’t clapped a hand to her shoulder. She turned to see Gandalf beside her smiling. 

“It may have been a bit overzealous but you can’t argue with the success my dear.” He laughed at her incredulous expression. Sometimes she wondered if the old wizard was completely sane though she was thrilled to have finally produced something besides fire. 

They turned together to head back to the camp. Hermione noticed that everyone had gathered at the edge to see what had caused the wizard to move so quickly. To say she was embarrassed that everyone had witnessed her using enough water for every tree in the forest would be an understatement. 

As they drew nearer the hobbits whooped and praised her for the show. Trust them to turn something so ridiculous into something so praiseworthy. To hear them recount it you would think she had fought off a raging inferno. 

Finally breaking free of the exuberant halflings Hermione turned to the others still gathered nearby. Boromir and Gimli looked less than impressed and rather wary of her and soon returned to whatever they had been doing before. Legolas and Aragorn however both looked thoroughly amused. 

“I’m sorry about the arrow, Legolas. There as nothing left but ash by the time I put out the fire. I didn’t realize that would happen when you offered to teach me to shoot. Is there any way I can replace it?”

The elf was already shaking his head before she finished her question. “Do not fret, Istar. Though the wood of my arrows does not come from ordinary trees it is not so difficult for me to replace them. Perhaps it would be wise to inscribe them with protective enchantments in the future.” His face was filled with mirth as he teased her and Hermione felt her shoulders relax hearing that he wasn’t angry with her. He gave her one last smile before he followed the others back into camp.

She turned her attention to Aragorn who was leaned against a tree watching their interaction. His sharp eyes taking in every detail. Pushing himself off he strode past her. After bending to retrieve his forgotten bow he gave her another soft smile and said, “I suppose we can be grateful it wasn’t my bow that caught fire,” and then proceeded to follow the rest of their fellowship. Hermione could only watch him go enjoying the view as he strode away. 

  
  



	11. Chapter 11

It seemed her impromptu lesson with the bow had broken through the ice with Legolas. While she was still exhausted when they stopped in the evening he never failed to ask if she wanted another lesson before supper. It seemed to be an unspoken agreement amongst the fellowship that it was good for her to learn a physical skill. It also seemed to be helping her focus her magic. Learning to use a bow from the elf made her hyper aware of the feel of her own body. How her muscles pulled and moved under her skin, how they felt when she pulled the string back, the beating of her heart and the air as it flowed in and out of her lungs. Learning to block out distractions while using the bow helped her to become less jumpy, starting fewer and fewer accidental fires. She felt guilty for still not helping with setting up camp, but everyone seemed appreciative of the fact they didn’t have to guard their belongings against her unintentional pyrotechnics. 

With the increase in her control came the increase of requests for magic tricks from the hobbits. Merry and Pippin were delighted by the charms and transfigurations she showed them while Frodo usually sat a bit further back and laughed at their playful antics. Sam was always too busy with supper preparations to join the others but he always watched when he could with a smile on his face. 

She was never more grateful for the control she now had than she was when the weather turned on them. They had made camp in a shallow gully, having no real cover as far as the eye could see. The wind cut through their cloaks and the rain soaked them to the bone. A fire would have been completely out of the question if she hadn’t been able to make a shelter out of the tall grass surrounding them and produce a bluebell flame in one of Sam’s cooking pots. Unfortunately, with only blades of grass to work with the shelter wasn’t as roomy as she would have hoped. Especially with some members of their fellowship still leery enough of her magic to refuse her offer of drying them off. 

Now here they all were, huddled together in the crapped space, eating cold jerky, the air filled with the musty smell of wet wool. She was grateful at least half of their company was so small in stature. They would have been hard pressed for room to sleep if they had all been as tall as Boromir or Aragorn or as… gerthy… as Gimli. 

Trying to find comfortable positions for everyone to sleep in had been quite the adventure. As it was they had no choice but to lie so close together they were all touching. She wouldn’t say it out loud but she was grateful for the extra body heat emanating from Legolas and Aragorn on either side of her with their cloaks haphazardly thrown across them. The ground was decently soft thanks to a cushioning charm and Hermione slowly felt her muscles unclench as she allowed herself to relax. A smile lazily spread across her face when she heard a thump followed by cursing coming from the direction where the hobbits had settled. She had no doubt either Merry or Pippin had just kicked the other for some grievous offense. 

Rolling to her side Hermione took in the relaxed features of the man beside her. This was the first time Aragorn had ever fallen asleep before her and he was already preparing for their departure in the morning when she awoke. She had also never been this close to him before. Now she could see just how long his lashes were. She would never have dared to scrutinize him so closely if it weren’t for the heavy, even breaths emanating from the man before her as well as behind. While Legolas wasn’t given to ribbing quite like Merry and Pippin, he wasn’t above teasing her if he caught her staring. 

The rhythmic pounding of the rain and the gentle sounds of sleepy breaths was soothing and she found herself thinking of nothing in particular, allowing the thoughts to flow as they would. Her wandering thoughts circled back to the man lying beside her only to realize at some point he had opened his eyes and was now watching her in return. 

Incredibly embarrassed at being caught out Hermione felt her face flame as she blushed. She could actually feel the blood pumping in her face and had no doubt her skin tone would now be comparable to a lobster. Unsure what to do she continued to stare like a deer caught in the headlights of a car as her brain seemed to shut off all function. 

Her eyes widened even further as she watched Aragorn reach one hand towards her face only and pull away the finger she had subconsciously been chewing the nail of. It really was a gross habit but she had learned early on in Azkaban if she didn’t keep them short somehow they would only catch and rip off when the experiments started again. 

Pulling the had from her face Aragorn gave her a gentle smile and interlaced their fingers before placing their joined hands on his chest. Seemingly satisfied he closed his eyes and settled in to return to sleep. Not a word had been exchanged through the entire encounter though it felt as if that small smile had conveyed a million words.

Hermione blinked slowly as her brain flickered back to life and gave her own smile. In order for the new position to be comfortable she would need to scooch as close as she possible could to the Ranger. Trying to make as little noise as possible she moved her body into a more acceptable position, pressed right up against Aragorn’s side. While they had been lying close before it felt like those few inches made all the difference. Before it was merely all the room that could be afforded in such close quarters, now the lack of distance was intentional. 

Biting her lip Hermione lowered her head to curl around his shoulder and closed her eyes. As much as she wanted a conversation this wasn’t the time or the place. Everyone was exhausted and in need of as much sleep as they could get. They still had far to go and needed to be well rested for the journey before them, but for now she would enjoy this small moment that was just hers; hers and Aragorn’s. 

* * *

The company was tense as they made camp that night. The feeling of being watched never leaving causing the hairs to stand up on the back of Hermione’s neck. The tension surrounding them caused everyone to have a short fuse and conversations were terse and snipped. Gandalf instructed Legolas to scout the surrounding area while the others set camp leaving Hermione unsure what she was supposed to do. Normally Legolas would mark out a tree, stump, or spot on the hillside for her to use as target practice then he would watch as she fired, offering suggestions and instructions in order to improve her aim and the time it took her to string each arrow. 

With Legolas off scouting Hermione was distinctly uncomfortable being left to her own devices. She didn’t want the others to think she wasn’t pulling her own weight but she also didn’t want to be in somebody’s way or mess up the routine they had. 

Bless that Samwise. He must have noticed her discomfort and was waving her over to the fire, motioning for her to sit beside him. Smiling brightly in thanks, Hermione wandered over and sunk to the ground beside the hobbit. Sam returned the smile and jumped right into explaining what he was doing as he prepared their evening meal. 

While Hermione had done muggle camping with her parents during her summer holidays they had never cooked directly over the fire. Her parents loved the outdoors but they were very fond of modern conveniences. Her father was particularly fond of the portable barbeque he had acquired and whipped it out any chance he could. She doubted cooking over the fire while camping on vacation would be quite the same as camping over the fire for weeks on end like this anyway. 

Sam wasn’t as boisterous as Merry or Pippin and had seemed more wary of her magic then his two friends but as time had passed he relaxed more around her sometimes even making requests when she entertained the others with her magic. Sam was an excellent teacher. It was obvious how much he enjoyed what he was showing her and it was no wonder their simple meals still tasted appetizing. It was easy to lose herself in what Sam was teaching her and was surprised when they were done. She hadn’t even noticed when Legolas returned to camp. 

She helped dish out everyone’s supper before moving back from the fire to comfortably enjoy her meal. The meal warmed her body as much as the comfortable conversation warmed her soul. While certain members were still a bit prickly towards one another, namely Gimli and Legolas, the rest of the company had settled comfortably. 

She was content to observe and listen rather than participate in the conversations happening around her. She hadn’t felt so welcome in so long. The elves of Rivendell had been courteous and kind but had remained aloof and distant with her. She wasn’t sure if it was the isolation of traveling together that had allowed everyone to become so comfortable with each other but she would be forever grateful for this second chance at life. 

Her eyes strayed across the fire and locked with Aragorn’s who was already looking in her direction. He was conversing with Gandalf and while the conversation appeared intense it didn’t seem to be too serious as the corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile before he turned back to the wizard beside him. It would seem the butterflies in her stomach agreed with her; they were going to live this new life to the fullest and appreciate the opportunities and people (or a specific person) with everything she had. She knew what it was to live with regrets and she refused to second guess herself anymore. 

  
  



End file.
